AT   LOS  ANGELES 


-.9. 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  MY 
CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 


CHILDHOOD 
AND  YOUTH 


MME-EDMOND  ADAM 


iqoi 

D-APPLETON  &CO 
NE.\V  YOKK 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published,  November,  1902 


"*•*"      •      ** 


PREFACE 

|T  the  present  time,  the  interest  which  a  writer's 
work  may  have  lies  greatly  m  the  study  of 
those  first  impulses  which  gave  it  birth,  of  the  sur- 
roundings amid  which  it  was  elaborated,  and  of 
the  connection  between  the  end  pursued  and  the 
achievement. 

In  former  times  a  writer's  personality  was  of 
small  importance.  His  works  were  deemed  suffi- 
cient. The  duality  presented  by  a  study  of  the 
causes  of  production,  and  the  production  itself,  was 
a  matter  of  interest  only  to  a  small  minority  of 
readers. 

By  degrees,  however,  with  the  writer's  own  con- 
sent, indiscreet  glances  were  thrown  into  the  per- 
sonal lives  of  those  whose  mission  it  was  to  direct^ 
enlighten,  or  amuse  the  lives  of  other  people. 

Forty  or  -fifty  years  ago  the  public  -first  read 
the  book,  and  judged  a  writer  by  his  writings,  and 
then  would  often  base  their  judgments  on  the 
opinion  of  some  great  critic,  who  had  slowly  given 
proof  of  his  knowledge,  and  whose  ideas  were 
found  worthy  of  adoption. 

To-day  it  is  quite  the  contrary.  A  new  book 
[vii] 


304396 


PREFACE 

is  so  generally  and  indiscreetly  announced  that  the 
larger  portion  of  the  public  is  quite  aware  both 
of  the  book  and  of  the  process  of  its  production. 
A  number  of  small  reviews  of  the  volume  are  read; 
they  often  are,  in  fact,  just  so  many  interviews 
with  the  author,  and,  under  the  general  impression 
thus  imparted,  the  book  is  read — a  great  favour 
for  the  writer  are  such  notices,  for  people  might 
speak  of  a  book  and  criticise  it  m  that  way  with- 
out ever  having  read  it. 

General  curiosity  is  insatiable  with  regard  to  the 
small  details  concerning  the  habits  and  customs  of 
an  author  if  he  is  already  celebrated,  or  is  likely 
to  achieve  success. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  present  custom 
weakens  to  an  infinite  degree  the  elements  of  per- 
sonal appreciation  of  any  work,  it  adds  to  knowl- 
edge of  the  author's  portrait,  which  stands  out 
from  all  these  inquiries  and  indiscretions,  with 
traits  of  physiognomy  that  possess,  perhaps,  more 
lively  interest. 

We  must  obviously  submit  to  the  custom,  and 
ask  ourselves  whether,  by  means  of  much  observa- 
tion of  both  the  author  and  his  work,  we  may  not 
obtain  a  broader  and  more  enlightened  criticism, 
uniting  the  author's  intentions  with  the  result 
achieved  by  his  book. 


PREFACE 


Or  else  is  it  because,  overworked  as  we  are,  we 
have  perhaps  become  unable  to  enjoy  the  delight 
of  reading  a  book  for  itself,  containing,  by  chance, 
no  anecdotes  "which  please  us — nothing,  in  fact, 
outside  the  actual  interest  of  the  book  itself,  but 
forming  part  of  it;  or  is  it  that  we  have  no  longer 
any  time  for  profound  or  matured  reflection,  or 
judgments  expressed  in  axioms,  the  terms  of  which 
have  long  been  weighed  in  the  balance  of  thought? 

It  requires  time  to  discover  the  master  thought 
of  any  work  of  real  worth,  in  order  to  disclose  its 
high  morality,  its  art  tendencies. 

The  maddening  rule  of  our  new  mode  of  life 
being  the  desire  to  know  all  things  as  quickly  as 
possible,  we  ask  the  author,  whose  motives  are 
known  beforehand,  what  he  meant  to  say,  or  do, 
or  prove,  and  in  this  way  we  think  to  gain  time  and 
not  run  the  risk  of  "  idle  dreaming." 

Ah!  as  to  dreams,  shall  we  speak  of  them? 
— golden  money,  no  longer  current,  which  we  scat- 
ter behind  us  in  our  haste  to  pursue  what  others  are 
pursuing.  If,  by  chance,  we  find  it  again,  how 
soiled  by  the  road's  dust  it  seems! 

The  asking  of  a  question  or  two,  and  even  the 

explanation  of  a  phenomenon  which  is  often  as 

clear  as  day,  can  be  undertaken  as  we  hurry  along, 

but  simply  to  examine  the  "  whys  and  wherefores  " 

[ix] 


PREFACE 


of  things,  or  to  attempt  to  discover  the  laws  of 
facts,  and  group  them  methodically,  giving  the 
logical  relation  of  these  laws  in  general  origins — 
verily,  only  a  few  vulgar  slang  words  can  express 
the  impression  made  on  the  minds  of  those  who  wish 
to  be  considered  "  modern  men,"  with  respect  to 
these  very  problems  of  which  we,  of  the  elder  gen- 
eration, are  so  fond,  and  which  are  called  by  the 
moderns — "  stuff." 

"  In  writing  your  memoirs  you  encourage  what 
you  appear  to  condemn,"  people  will  doubtless  say 
to  me.  But  I  condemn  nothing.  I  simply  note  a 
state  of  mind  and  ways  of  life.  I  feel  sure  that  if 
in  "  my  time  "  an  author's  work  held  the  first  place, 
and  that  if  nowadays  the  author  himself  excites 
disproportionate  interest,  the  future  will  establish 
an  equilibrium  between  these  two  extremes. 

If  the  candles  of  literary  people  of  the  present 
time  are  burned  at  both  ends,  it  is,  perhaps,  be- 
cause there  remain  few  embers  of  the  luminous 
torches  of  the  past.  The  authors  of  the  future 
will  be  obliged  to  renew  their  provision  of  wood, 
which  must  burn  itself  out,  normally,  in  the  middle. 

However  this  may  be,  it  is,  perhaps,  profitable 
to  register  the  facts  in  a  fieeting  epoch  for  the  use 
of  those  who  are  running  in  pursuit  of  an  epoch 
which  is  to  take  its  place. 


PREFACE 

Old  people  are  fond  of  describing  -what  took 
place  in  former  times,  and  they  have  a  real  mission 
so  to  do  if  only  they  will  refrain  from  trying  to 
enforce  upon  us  the  superiority  of  the  teaching 
of  that  which  has  disappeared,  and  if  they  will  tell 
their  story  simply,  leaving  a  younger  generation 
to  discover  its  lesson,  and  from  it  form  conclusions. 

Those  of  the  older  generation  who  educated  us 
thought  sentimentalism  and  humanity,  which  ap- 
peared at  first  brutally,  and  then  were  gloriously 
driven  back  by  the  Terror  and  the  Empire,  had 
returned  again  triumphantly. 

Moreover,  the  Revolution  and  Bonaparte  had 
opened  our  gates  to  a  foreign  influx.  Our  fathers 
gave  shelter  to  every  Utopian  idea  brought  from 
Italy,  Germany,  Austria,  and  Russia.  The  mixt- 
ure was  so  confusing  that  all  manner  of  extrava- 
gant things  sprang  from  it. 

The  consciences  of  the  "  men  of  progress  "  were 
concentrated  around  the  social  conception  of  the 
"  suffering  classes,"  and  the  political  conception 
involved  in  the  crimes  of  the  "  higher  classes." 
Love  and  indignation  were  the  food  with  which 
they  fed  our  youthful  hearts. 

The  Bible,  the  socialism  of  Christ,  and  examples 
of  sublimity  of  character  taken  from  Greece  and 
Rome,  became  the  strange  mixture  that  was  the 
[xi] 


PREFACE 

guiding  spirit  of  our  fathers'  action,  and  inspired 
our  primal  ideas. 

People  of  reason,  who  possessed  solid  common- 
sense,  the  Bourgeois,  were,  naturally,  to  a  much 
overrated  degree,  our  enemies. 

We  are,  in  all  our  primal  impulses,  the  children 
of  the  men  of  1848;  our  very  reaction  was  born 
of  their  action. 

We  have  been  led  on  solely  by  their  example; 
haunted,  just  as  they  were,  by  the  feeling  that  we 
should  add  to  our  unlimited  dreams  what  they  had 
deemed  to  be  the  counterpoise  to  the  great  love  of 
humanity,  namely,  science;  but  a  science  which  we 
thought  was  to  bring  relief  to  the  worker,  by  ma- 
chinery, a  cheaper  rate  of  living  to  the  poor,  and 
a  more  equal  distribution  of  wealth  to  the  un- 
fortunate. 

"  The  rights  of  man,"  that  oft-repeated  phrase 
which  has  never  been  rightly  understood  by  those 
who  called  themselves  its  defenders,  possessed  for 
them,  before,  during,  and  after  1848,  only  one  sig- 
nificance, namely :  the  realisation  by  society  in  gen- 
eral of  the  greatest  sum  of  possible  happiness  for 
each  individual. 

Those  who  at  that  time  proclaimed  themselves 
socialists — and  this  tradition  exists  among  the  same 
class  of  the  present  day — took  no  account  of  gen- 
[xii] 


PREFACE 


eral  society,  of  its  affiliations,  of  its  necessary  aver- 
age existence,  or  of  its  "  badly  cut  coats,"  so  to 
speak. 

They  refused  to  see  opposed  to  the  rights  of  the 
socialist  man  the  general  social  rights,  which  mean, 
in  plain  words,  the  rights  of  each  individual  man, 
and  which,  summed  up,  become  the  rights  of  all 
men. 

Religious  dogma  alone  can  affirm  the  absolute 
right  of  an  individual  soul,  because  each  soul  comes 
m  contact  with  other  souls  only  in  the  infinite. 
Absoluteness  can  only  be  realised  in  evolutions  tow- 
ards death.  But  contact  with  living  men  has  its 
contingencies  which  society  pulverises  well  or  badly, 
according  as  individuals  mingle  together  happily 
or  not,  or  according  as  they  disturb  society  or  serve 
it  well. 

Social  problems,  whether  robed  m  dithyrambic 
form  or  clad  in  offensive  rags,  are  unable  to  force 
upon  society  reforms  which  are  laid  down  in  names 
unless  society  has  become  ready  to  assimilate  them; 
otherwise  they  upset  society,  agitate  it,  and  throw 
it  back  on  reaction. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  a  sincere 
sectarian,  disinterested  even  to  self-sacrifice,  and 
who  dreamed  of  absolute  liberty  and  absolute  equal- 
ity. Until  the  terrible  year  of  1870,  his  mind 


PREFACE 


mastered  my  own.  For  an  instant,  during  the 
days  of  the  Commune,  he  thought  his  dreams  were 
about  to  be  realised.  Were  he  alive  now,  he  would 
be  a  disciple  of  Monsieur  Brisson,  whose  political 
ancestor  he  was.  He  would  have  pursued  only  one 
idea:  the  upsetting  of  everything. 

The  revolutionists  and  the  Brissonists  are,  after 
all,  only  belated  and  antiquated  minds,  not  yet 
freed  from  sophistries  by  the  terrible  vision  of 
1870;  not  stimulated  by  the  lamentations  heard 
from  men  on  French  soil,  when  trodden  under  foot 
by  Prussia;  not  armed  with  patriotic  combativeness 
by  the  sight  of  the  panting  flesh  of  those  provinces 
which  were  torn  from  France,  and  which,  in  the 
figurative  image  of  our  country,  occupy  the  place 
of  the  heart. 

JULIETTE  ADAM. 


[xiv] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  MY  GRANDMOTHER  ....       1 
II.  WHEN    THE   ALLIES    WERE   AT    THE 

GATES  OF  PARIS  .          .          .26 

III.  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  MY  FATHER  AND 

MOTHER    .         .         .         .          .35 

IV.  BORN  IN  AN  INN      .         .         .         .46 

V.  MY  EARLY  CHILDHOOD    .         .         .57 

VI.  FIRST  DAY  AT  SCHOOL    .         .         .68 

VII.  I  Go  TO  A  WEDDING         .         .         .81 

VIII.  "  FAMILY  DRAMAS  "         .         .         .92 

IX.  LEARNING  TO  BE  BRAVE  .         .          .  101 

X.  A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT  .         .          .108 

XI.  A  PAINFUL  RETURN  HOME       .          .  121 

XII.  A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS    .          .  129 

XIII.  I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS     .          .          .140 

XIV.  SOME  NEW  IMPRESSIONS  GAINED       .  152 
XV.  THE  END  OF  MY  HOLIDAY        .          .  159 

XVI.  AT  HOME  AGAIN     .         .         .  .165 

XVII.  I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY  .  174 

XVIII.  I  REVISIT  CHIVRES  .         .         .  .185 
[xv] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

XIX.  I  BEGIN  MY  LITERARY  WORK       .  191 
XX.  Louis  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT  FROM 

PRISON 198 

XXI.  MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW    .          .  207 
XXII.  MY  FIRST  RAILWAY  JOURNEY      .  219 
XXIII.  MY  FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  SEA    225 
XXIV.  I  RECEIVE  A  HANDSOME  GIFT     .  233 
XXV.  OUR  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY  .          .  240 
XXVI.  MY  FIRST  COMMUNION         .          .  249 
XXVII.  WE  Discuss  FRENCH  LITERATURE  260 
XXVIII.  WE  TALK  ABOUT  POLITICS  .  271 

XXIX.  TALKS  ABOUT  NATURE         .         .  279 
XXX.  A  SERIOUS  ACCIDENT  .         .  286 

XXXI.  "  LIBERTY,  EQUALITY,  AND  FRA- 
TERNITY "  291 
XXXII.  "  VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE  !  "    .          .  299 

XXXIII.  "  OTHER    TIMES,     OTHER    MAN- 

NERS " 312 

XXXIV.  I  Go  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL  .          .  319 
XXXV.  DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC     333 

XXXVI.  ANOTHER  VISIT  AT  CHIVRES         .  344 
XXXVII.  I  BEGIN  TO  STUDY  HOUSEKEEP- 
ING          350 

[xvi] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

XXXVIII.  AN  EXCITING  INCIDENT     .         .  357 

XXXIX.  AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE    .          .  366 

XL.  THE  "  FAMILY  DRAMA  "  AGAIN    382 

XLL  MY  MARRIAGE  AND  ITS  RESULTS  393 


[  xvii  ] 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MY  CHILD- 
HOOD AND  YOUTH 


MY     GRANDMOTHER 

_  _,S  I  advance  in  years,  one  of  the  things  which 
astonishes  me  most  is  the  singular  vividness 
of  my  memories  of  my  childhood. 

Some  of  them,  it  is  true,  have  been  related  many 
times  over  to  me — and  these  are  the  most  indis- 
tinct— by  the  nurse  who  tended  me  and  by  my 
grandparents,  for  whom  everything  that  concerned 
their  only  granddaughter  had  a  primal  importance. 

However,  amid  these  oft-repeated  stories  I  dis- 
cover impressions,  acts,  that  might  have  been 
known  to  any  of  my  family,  which  arise  before 
me  with  extraordinary  precision. 

I  am  the  prey,  moreover,  of  a  scruple,  and  I  ask 
myself  whether  these  impressions  really  do  come  to 
me  strictly  in  the  manner  in  which  I  felt  and  acted 
them  at  the  time,  or  whether,  returning  to  them 
after  all  the  experiences  of  life,  I  do  not  uncon- 
sciously exaggerate  them? 

2  [1] 


MY  CHILDHOOD   AND   YOUTH 

To  reassure  my  wish  to  be  sincere,  which  has 
many  disturbing  suggestions,  I  endeavour  to  recall 
to  myself  in  what  terms,  at  every  epoch  of  my  life, . 
I  have  spoken  of  my  childhood,  and  also  to  obtain 
information  from  a  few  notes,  too  rare,  alas!  that 
I  wrote  in  my  youth  which  have  been  kept  by 
my  family.  It  is,  therefore,  preoccupied  with  a 
jealous  desire  to  be  entirely  truthful  that  I  begin 
this  work. 

As  I  was  brought  up  by  my  grandmother,  I 
shall  speak  of  her  a  great  deal.  Shall  I  succeed 
in  making  her  live  again  in  all  her  originality,  in 
her  passion  for  the  romantic,  which  she  imposed 
upon  us  all,  making  the  lives  of  her  family,  from 
the  primal  and  dominating  impulsion  she  gave  to 
all  their  actions,  a  perpetual  race  towards  the 
romantic  ? 

No  woman  in  a  gymnasium  was  ever  more  closely 
imprisoned.  I  never  saw  my  grandmother  leave 
her  large  house  and  great  garden  a  hundred 
times,  except  to  go  to  mass  at  eight  o'clock  on 
Sundays;  on  the  other  hand,  I  never  perceived  in 
any  mind  such  a  love  for  adventure,  such  a  horror 
for  preordained  and  enforced  existence,  such  a 
constant  and  imperious  appetite  for  written  or 
enacted  romance. 

Her  affection  for  me  was  so  absorbing  that  I 


MY   GRANDMOTHER 


monopolised  her  life,  as  it  were,  from  the  moment 
when  she  consecrated  it  to  me. 

I  loved  her  exclusively  until  the  day  when  my 
father,  with  his  power  for  argument,  in  which  he 
usually  opposed  the  accepted  ideas  of  our  sur- 
roundings, and,  with  his  kindness  of  character, 
took  possession  of  my  mind  and  led  me  to  accept 
his  way  of  thinking. 

Between  these  two  exceptional  and  somewhat 
erratic  beings,  the  one  possessing  admirable  gener- 
osity of  heart,  sectarian  uprightness,  passionately 
earnest  in  his  unchangeable  exaltations,  the  other 
with  true  nobility  of  soul,  rigid  virtue,  but  with 
an  imagination  fantastic  beyond  expression;  be- 
tween these  two,  loving  them  in  turn,  sometimes 
one  more  than  the  other,  I  was  cast  about  to  such 
a  degree  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  me 
to  find  foothold  for  my  original  thoughts,  amid 
these  continual  oscillations,  if  I  had  not  constantly 
endeavoured  to  seek  for  my  own  true  self  and  to 
find  it.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  this  effort,  what  a 
long  time  it  took  me  to  free  myself  from  the  double 
imprint  given  to  my  character  by  my  beloved  rela- 
tives ! 

What  shielded  me  from  total  absorption  by  one 
or  the  other  of  them,  what  caused  me  to  escape 
from  the  ardent  desire  of  both,  to  mould  me  to 

[3] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

their  image,  so  dissimilar  one  from  the  other,  was 
the  very  precocious  consciousness  I  had  of  the 
precious  advantages  of  possessing  personal  will. 

Between  my  father  and  my  grandmother  I  ap- 
plied myself,  instinctively  at  first,  determinedly 
later,  to  be  something.  Was  that  the  starting- 
point  of  my  resolve  to  be  somebody? 

In  the  ceaseless  struggle  between  my  father  and 
grandmother,  myself  being  the  coveted  prize,  there 
were  three  of  us. 

Many  stories  are  involved  in  my  souvenirs,  more 
strange,  more  eccentric,  one  than  the  other,  of  the 
marriages  of  my  grandparents  and  great-grand- 
parents in  my  maternal  grandmother's  family. 

Their  adventures  interested  my  youth  to  such  a 
degree  that  I  should  not  hesitate  to  unfold  them 
to  the  surprise  of  my  readers  were  they  not  too 
numerous. 

My  grandmother,  who  talked  and  who  related 
stories  with  a  very  quick,  sharp,  and  bantering 
wit,  took  much  pleasure  in  telling  of  the  romantic 
lives  of  her  grandmothers.  She  delighted  in  re- 
painting for  me  all  these  family  portraits  on  her 
side,  never  speaking  to  me  of  my  father's  family, 
which  I  grew  to  know  later. 

She  possessed  the  pride  of  her  merchant  and 
bourgeoise  caste.  I  learned  through  her  many 
[4] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


obscure  things  in  the  history  of  the  struggles  of 
French  royalty  against  the  great  feudal  lords,  the 
internationalists  of  that  time. 

She  said,  speaking  to  me  of  her  own  people: 
"  We  are  descended  from  those  merchant  families 
of  Noyon,  of  Chauny,  of  Saint-Quentin,  so  influ- 
ential in  the  councils  of  the  communes,  of  whom 
several  were  seneschals,  faithful  to  their  town,  to 
their  province  above  all,  faithful  to  royalty,  not 
always  to  the  king,  to  religion,  not  always  to  the 
Pope;  liberals,  men  of  progress,  of  pure  Gallic 
race,  enriching  themselves  with  great  honesty  and 
strongly  disdaining  those  among  themselves  who, 
for  services  rendered  to  the  sovereign,  solicited 
from  him  titles  of  nobility." 

My  grandmother's  mother,  when  fourteen  years 
old,  fell  madly  in  love  with  one  of  her  relatives 
from  Noyon,  who  had  come  to  talk  business,  and 
who,  after  a  day's  conversation,  more  serious  than 
poetical,  and  continued  through  breakfast  and 
dinner,  received  at  his  departure  the  following 
declaration  from  her :  "  Cousin,  when  you  come 
next  year  it  will  be  to  ask  me  in  marriage."  They 
laughed  much  at  this  whim,  but,  as  the  young  girl 
was  an  only  daughter  and  would  have  a  large  dot, 
the  relatives  of  Noyon,  less  well  off,  did  not  dis- 
dain the  offer  made  to  their  son. 

[5] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

When  she  was  fifteen,  the  precocious  Charlotte 
married  her  cousin  Raincourt,  a  very  handsome 
youth  twenty-two  years  of  age,  but  she  died  in 
childbed  the  following  year,  giving  birth  to  my 
grandmother. 

The  young  widower  confided  little  Pelagic  to 
his  wife's  mother,  now  a  widow  herself,  and  while 
my  great-grandfather  married  again  when  twenty- 
four  years  of  age,  and  had  three  daughters,  who 
were  very  good,  very  properly  educated — Sophie, 
Constance,  and  Anastasie — my  grandmother  grew 
up  like  a  little  savage  and  sometimes  stupefied  the 
quiet  town  of  Chauny  by  the  eccentricities  of  a 
spoiled  child. 

She  read  everything  that  fell  into  her  hands, 
no  selection  being  made  for  her,  and  refused  to 
allow  herself  to  be  led  by  any  one,  or  for  any 
reason  whatever. 

As  soon  as  she  was  thirteen  she  announced  to 
her  grandmother  that  her  education  was  finished. 
She  left  the  boarding-school,  where  during  five 
years  she  had  learned  very  little,  and  devoted  her- 
self entirely  and  for  the  rest  of  her  life  to  the  read- 
ing of  novels. 

Witty,  full  of  life,  brilliant,  and  even  sometimes 
a  little  impish,  my  grandmother  had  red  hair  at  a 
time  when  "  carrotty  "-coloured  hair  had  but  little 

[6] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


success.  She  had  superb  teeth,  a  delicate  nose 
with  sensitive  nostrils,  bright  green  eyes,  and  her 
very  white  complexion  was  marked  with  tiny  yel- 
low spots,  all  of  which  gave  her  the  physiognomy 
of  an  odd-looking  yet  very  attractive  girl. 

Romantic,  as  had  been  her  mother  and  her 
grandmothers,  she  wished  to  choose  her  own  hus- 
band, and  she  had  not  found  him  when  she  was  fif- 
teen. In  spite  of  the  sad  fate  of  her  mother,  who 
had  died  in  childbirth,  being  married  too  young, 
Pelagie  was  in  despair  at  remaining  a  maid  so 
long. 

Mile.  Lenormant's  predictions  had  given  birth 
throughout  France  to  a  crowd  of  fortune-tellers, 
and  my  grandmother  consulted  one,  who  told  her: 
"  You  will  marry  a  stranger  to  this  town." 

This  did  not  astonish  her,  for  she  knew  all  those 
who  could  aspire  to  her  hand,  and  there  was  not 
one  among  them  who  answered  to  all  that  her 
imagination  sought  in  a  husband.  Not  a  single 
young  man  of  Chauny  of  good  family  had  as  yet 
had  any  romantic  adventure. 

She  took  good  care  not  to  confide  her  impatience 
to  her  three  half-sisters,  their  father  having  de- 
clared that  Pelagie  should  not  marry  before  she 
was  twenty-one.  He  wished  to  keep  in  his  own 
hands  the  administration  of  his  first  wife's  fortune 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

as  long  as  possible   for  the  benefit  of  the  three 
daughters  born  of  his  second  marriage. 

These,  moreover,  continually  said  that  Pelagic 
was  too  eccentric  to  be  marriageable.  The  eldest, 
Sophie,  was  only  fourteen  months  younger  than 
Pelagic,  but  ten  years  older  in  common  sense  and 
knowledge. 

Pelagic  made  a  voyage  to  Noyon  with  her 
grandmother  to  look  for  a  husband.  She  lived 
for  a  month  in  a  handsome  old  house  on  the  Cathe- 
dral Square,  owned  by  an  aged  relative  who  would 
have  liked  to  make  a  second  marriage  with  her 
grandmother.  The  love-affair  of  these  old  people 
amused  her,  but  she  did  not  find  the  husband  for 
whom  she  was  seeking,  and — she  left  as  she  came. 

But  one  fine  day  a  young  surgeon  arrived  at 
Chauny  in  quest  of  practice. 

Here  is  "  the  stranger  to  the  town  "  predicted 
by  the  fortune-teller,  thought  Pelagic  even  before 
she  had  seen  him,  and  she  spoke  of  her  hope  to  her 
grandmother. 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  which  I  will  never  con- 
sent," replied  the  latter,  "  it  is  that  you  should 
marry  any  one  who  is  not  of  a  good  bourgeoise 
family,"  and  her  grandmother  assumed  an  air  of 
authority,  at  which  the  young  girl  laughed 
heartily. 

[8] 


MY   GRANDMOTHER 


The  young  surgeon's  name  was  Pierre  Seron, 
and  he  could  not  have  been  better  born  in  the 
bourgeoise  class.  He  was  descended  from  one  of 
the  physicians  of  Louis  XIV.  His  father  was  the 
most  prominent  doctor  at  Compiegne,  and  his 
reputation  reached  as  far  as  Paris.  A  cousin 
Seron  had  been  a  Conventional  with  Jean  de  Bien, 
and  had  played  a  great  political  role  in  Belgium, 
from  whence  the  first  French  Serons  had  come. 

"  Of  good  family ! "  Pelagie  and  her  grand- 
mother repeated  in  chorus.  "  If  only  he  has  not 
had  too  commonplace  an  existence,"  thought 
Pelagie. 

Pierre  Seron  went  up  and  down  all  the  streets 
of  the  town,  so  as  to  make  believe  that  he  had 
already  secured  practice  on  arriving,  and  he  soon 
had  some  successful  cases  which  gave  him  a  repu- 
tation. 

He  was  a  superb-looking  man,  his  figure  resem- 
bling that  of  a  grenadier  of  the  Imperial  Guard. 
His  face  was  not  handsome.  He  wore  his  hair 
flat  a  la  Napoleon,  but  his  forehead  was  a  little 
narrow,  and  he  had  great,  convex,  grey  eyes  and 
too  full  a  nose,  but  his  mouth — he  was  always 
clean-shaven — wore  an  attractive,  gay,  and  mock- 
ing smile,  in  spite  of  very  thick,  sensual  lips. 

He  was  never  seen  except  in  a  dress  coat  and 

[9] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

white  cravat.  In  a  word,  well-built,  of  fine  pres- 
ence, Pierre  Seron  had  a  distinguished  air  and  was 
really  a  very  handsome  man. 

He  would  have  needed  to  be  blind,  and  not  to 
have  had  the  necessity  of  making  a  rich  marriage, 
if  he  had  not  remarked  the  interest  which  Mile. 
Pelagie  Raincourt  took  in  his  comings  and  goings. 

"  Why,  his  father  being  a  doctor  at  Compiegne, 
has  this  young  surgeon  come  to  establish  himself 
at  Chauny? "  asked  the  grandmother  often. 
"  There  must  be  something,"  she  said. 

Oh,  yes!  there  was  something.  And,  as  Pierre 
Seron  was  rather  talkative  and  as  Compiegne  was 
not  a  hundred  leagues  from  Chauny,  the  story  was 
soon  known. 

He  was  simply  a  hero  of  romance.  "  His  life 
is  a  romance — a  great,  a  real  romance,"  cried 
Pelagie  one  day  on  returning  from  a  visit  paid 
to  an  old  relative  whom  Pierre  Seron  was  attending 
and  from  whom  she  had  heard  it  all ! 

Her  grandmother,  touched  by  her  grandchild's 
emotion,  listened  to  the  story  enthusiastically  told 
by  Pelagie,  who  was  already  in  love  with  Pierre 
Seron's  sad  adventure  as  much  as,  and  perhaps 
more  than,  with  himself. 

He  was  the  second  son  of  a  father  who  hated 
him  from  the  day  of  his  birth.  Doctor  Seron  loved 
[10] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


only  his  elder  son,  his  pride,  he  who  should  have 
been  an  "  only  child." 

He  continually  said  this  to  his  timid,  submissive 
wife,  who  hardly  dared  to  protect  the  ill-used, 
beaten  younger  son,  who  was  made  to  live  with  the 
servants. 

Poor  little  fellow!  except  for  a  rare  kiss,  a 
furtive  caress  from  his  mother,  he  was  a  victim  to 
his  family's  dislike. 

One  day,  when  very  ill  with  the  croup,  his  father 
wished  to  send  him  to  the  hospital,  fearing  con- 
tagion for  the  elder  brother.  But  his  mother  on 
this  occasion  resisted.  She  shut  herself  up  with 
him  in  his  little  room,  took  care  of  him,  watched 
over  him,  and  by  her  energy  and  devotion  saved 
him  from  death.  But  she  had  worn  out  her  own 
strength.  She  seemed  half-stunned,  and  the  child 
suffered  so  much  during  his  convalescence  that  he 
was  almost  in  as  much  danger  as  while  ill. 

When  he  was  nine  years  old,  a  servant  accused 
him  of  a  theft  which  he  had  committed  himself,  and 
he  was  driven  from  his  home  one  autumn  night, 
possessing  nothing  but  the  poor  clothes  he  wore 
and  a  few  crowns,  painfully  economised  by  his 
mother,  who  slipped  them  into  his  hand  without 
even  kissing  him. 

He  lay  in  front  of  the  door  when  it  was  closed 

[11] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

upon  him,  hoping  that  some  one  passing  would 
crush  him.  He  cried,  he  supplicated.  The  neigh- 
bours gathered  around  him,  pitying  him,  and  say- 
ing loudly  that  it  was  abominable,  that  the  law 
should  protect  the  unhappy  little  child,  but  no  one 
dared  to  take  him  to  his  home. 

As  soon  as  Pierre  found  himself  alone  again, 
abandoned  by  all,  he  looked  for  a  last  time  at  what 
he  called  "  the  great,  wicked  and  shining  eyes  "  of 
the  lighted  windows  of  the  house. 

"  That,"  said  Pelagic  to  her  grandmother,  "  was 
the  very  phrase  Pierre  Seron  used  in  relating  his 
story,  and  the  poor  boy  started  off,  not  knowing 
whither  he  went." 

Instinctively  he  turned  towards  a  farm,  where 
every  morning  at  dawn,  and  in  all  weathers,  his 
father's  servants  sent  him  to  get  milk. 

The  farmer's  wife  had  felt  pity  for  him  many 
times  before  when  he  was  telling  her  of  his  suffer- 
ings, and  he  now  remembered  something  she  had 
one  day  said  to  him :  "  You  would  be  happier  as 
a  cowherd." 

He  entered  the  farmhouse,  where  the  farmers 
were  at  supper,  and,  sitting  down  beside  them,  he 
burst  into  tears.  He  could  not  speak. 

"  Have  they  driven  you  from  your  home? " 
asked  the  farmer's  wife.  He  made  a  sign :  "  Yes." 
[12] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


Then  the  good  people  tried  to  console  him,  made 
him  eat  some  supper,  and  put  him  to  sleep  on 
some  fresh  straw  in  the  stable.  They  kept  him 
with  them,  giving  him  work  on  the  farm  by  which 
he  earned  his  food. 

The  next  year,  when  he  was  ten  years  of  age, 
though  he  looked  fourteen,  so  much  had  he  grown, 
the  cowherd  being  gone,  he  replaced  him.  He  did 
everything  in  his  power  to  prove  his  gratitude  to 
those  who  had  sheltered  him.  Being  faithful  at 
his  work,  devoted  to  his  protectors,  and  very  in- 
telligent, he  compensated  for  his  youth  by  his  good 
will,  always  on  the  alert. 

The  farmer,  after  the  day  when  Pierre  Seron 
went  to  him,  refused  to  sell  any  more  milk  to 
Doctor  Seron,  and  later  he  went  bravely  to  express 
his  indignation  to  him,  thinking  to  humiliate  him 
when  he  should  hear  that  his  son  had  become  a 
cowherd. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  replied  his  father,  harsh- 
ly, "  it  is  probably  the  only  work  that  he  will  ever 
be  able  to  do." 

These  words,  repeated  to  Pierre,  instead  of  dis- 
couraging him,  settled  his  fate. 

"  I  will  also  be  a  Doctor  Seron  one  day,"  he 
swore  to  himself. 

His  mother  had  taught  him  to  read  Latin-French 
[13] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

in  a  small,  old  medical  dictionary,  which  never 
left  him,  and  by  the  aid  of  which  he  improved  his 
very  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  conjunction  of 
words. 

From  that  day,  while  he  was  watching  his  cows, 
not  only  did  he  learn  to  read  well  and  to  write  with 
a  stick  on  the  ground,  but  he  learned  also  the 
Latin  and  French  words  in  the  dictionary,  one  by 
one,  and  his  youthful  brain  developed  with  this 
rude  and  imperfect  method  of  study. 

Whenever  he  made  a  little  money  he  bought 
books  on  medicine  with  it,  and  studied  hard  by 
day;  in  the  evenings  he  read  under  the  farmer's 
smoky  lamp,  and  at  night  by  moonlight. 

He  gathered  simples  for  an  herbalist  whom  he 
had  met  in  the  fields,  and  received  some  useful  les- 
sons from  him.  This  herbalist  took  an  interest 
in  the  poor  child,  directed  his  studies  a  little,  and 
bought  him  some  useful  books. 

Pierre  invented  a  pretty  wicker-basket  in  which 
to  put  fresh  cheese  during  the  summer,  and,  as  the 
farmer's  wife  sold  her  cheese  in  these  baskets  for  a 
few  cents  extra,  she  shared  the  profits  with  Pierre. 

Some  years   passed  thus.     Pierre   tried  several 
times  to  see  his  mother,  but  she  lived  shut  up  in 
the  house,  sequestered,  perhaps,  and  he  could  never 
succeed  in  catching  a  glimpse  of  her. 
[14] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


His  brother,  who  was  five  years  older  than  him- 
self, and  studying  medicine  at  Paris,  passed  his 
time  merrily  during  his  vacations  at  home  with  the 
young  men  of  the  town. 

Pierre  saw  him  pointed  out  by  a  friend  one  day, 
when  he  came  with  a  troop  of  young  men  and 
pretty  girls  to  drink  warm  milk  at  the  farm. 

"  This  milk  is  served  to  you  by  the  cowherd  of 
this  place,  who  is  your  legitimate  brother,"  said 
Pierre  to  him,  presenting  him  with  a  frothy  bowl 
of  it. 

"  My  brother  is  dead,"  replied  he. 

"  You  will  find  him  before  many  years  very 
much  alive  in  Paris,  sir !  "  answered  Pierre. 

On  hearing  of  this  incident  there  was  much  talk 
at  Compiegne  over  the  half -forgotten  story  of  the 
exiled  and  abandoned  child. 

As  the  elder  son  gave  very  little  satisfaction  to 
his  father,  they  said  it  was  God  who  was  punishing 
the  latter  for  his  cruelty,  but  no  one  paid  any 
attention  to  the  cowherd's  prediction. 

When  he  was  nineteen  Pierre  possessed  eleven 
hundred  francs  of  savings.  One  autumn  day  when 
his  father  took  the  diligence,  as  he  did  every  fort- 
night to  go  and  see  his  eldest  son  at  Paris,  and 
especially  to  recommend  him  to  his  professors,  who 
could  do  nothing  with  this  student,  an  enemy  of 
[15] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

study,  Pierre  Seron,  the  younger,  with  bare  feet, 
in  order  not  to  use  his  shoes,  and  with  his  knapsack 
on  his  back,  started  for  the  capital. 

One  can  imagine  in  what  sort  of  hovel  he  lived 
in  the  Latin  quarter.  Before  inscribing  himself 
at  the  Faculty,  he  sought  out  night-work  on  the 
wharves.  His  tall  figure  was  an  excellent  recom- 
mendation for  him,  and  he  was  engaged  as  an 
unloader  of  boats  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing to  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  the  price  of 
forty-five  cents.  He  needed  no  more  on  which  to 
live,  and  he  even  hoped  to  add  to  his  small  hoard, 
which  he  feared  would  not  be  sufficient  to  pay  for 
his  terms  and  his  books. 

How  many  times  have  I,  myself,  made  my 
grandfather  tell  me  of  this  epoch  of  his  life,  which 
he  recalled  with  pride. 

Pelagie  continued  her  story  to  her  grandmother, 
who  listened  open-mouthed,  touched  to  tears. 

Pierre  had  taken  his  working  clothes  with  him, 
and  every  night  he  became,  not  a  dancing  costumed 
sailor  at  public  balls  like  his  brother,  but  a  boat- 
heaver  on  the  Seine  wharves. 

During  the  day  he  followed  the  lectures  with 
such  zeal,  such  application,  such  passionate  ardour, 
that  he  was  soon  remarked  by  his  professors. 

His   name   struck   them;   they   questioned   him, 

[16] 


and  one  of  them  whom  Doctor  Seron  had  offended 
by  reproaching  him  rudely  for  severity  towards  his 
eldest  son,  extolled  the  younger  Seron,  took  special 
interest  in  him,  and  soon  two  camps  were  formed: 
that  of  the  hard  workers  and  friends  of  Pierre, 
and  that  of  the  rakes,  friends  of  Theophile  Seron. 
One  day  they  came  to  blows,  and  Pierre,  taking 
his  brother  by  the  arms,  shook  him  vigorously. 

"  I  told  you  that  your  brother,  the  cowherd, 
would  find  you  again  in  Paris,"  he  said,  letting 
him  fall  rather  heavily  on  the  floor. 

While  his  brother  was  holding  high  revel,  Pierre 
was  freezing  under  the  roofs  in  winter,  and  roast- 
ing beneath  them  in  summer,  eating  and  sleeping 
badly,  and  working  every  night  on  the  wharves. 
On  Sundays  he  mended  his  clothes,  bought  at  the 
old  clothes-man's,  which  were  far  from  being  good, 
and  he  washed  his  own  poor  linen.  Pierre  wore 
only  shirt-fronts  and  wristbands  of  passable  qual- 
ity, his  shirt  being  of  the  coarsest  material.  His 
socks  had  only  tops  and  no  bottoms.  He  suffered 
in  every  way  from  poverty  and  all  manner  of 
privations. 

But  he  had,  on  the  other  hand,  the  satisfaction 

of  feeling  the  advantage  it  was  to  have  had  refined 

parents.     He  easily  acquired  good  manners,  and 

his  hereditary  intelligence  seemed  to  fit  him  for  the 

3  [17] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

most  arduous  medical  studies.  He  found  that  he 
possessed  faculties  of  assimilation  which  astonished 
himself.  To  be  brief,  he  passed  his  examinations 
brilliantly,  while  his  brother  failed  in  every  one. 

Doctor  Seron,  whom  he  met  from  time  to  time 
with  his  brother,  was  now  an  old  man,  bent  down 
beneath  the  weight  of  troubles;  his  well-beloved 
son  was  ruining  him. 

When  Pierre  Seron  had  finished  his  studies  and 
obtained  his  degrees,  he  wrote  to  his  father  and 
mother,  saying  that  he  would  return  to  them  like 
a  son  who  had  only  been  absent  for  a  time,  and 
that  he  forgave  everything.  He  received  no  an- 
swer from  his  mother,  but  a  letter  full  of  furious 
maledictions  from  his  father. 

His  friend,  the  herbalist  of  Compiegne,  discov- 
ered that  there  was  a  chance  for  him  at  Chauny, 
and  lent  him  some  money.  He  found  no  help  ex- 
cept from  this  faithful  protector. 

"  And  so  it  happens,"  continued  Pelagic  Rain- 
court,  "  that  Pierre  Seron  has  come  to  establish 
himself  in  our  town,  where  I  have  been  waiting 
for  him,"  and  she  added :  "  Grandmother,  he  must 
be  my  husband." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  her  grandmother,  "  I  love 
him,  brave  heart !  already,  but  he  must  fall  in  love 
with  you." 

[18] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


Pelagie  had  never  thought  of  that. 

A  friend  was  commissioned  to  ask  Doctor  Seron 
— they  already  gave  him  this  title,  without  adding 
his  first  name,  in  order  to  avenge  his  father's  cruel- 
ties— a  friend  was  asked  to  question  him  with 
regard  to  the  possible  feelings  with  which  Mile. 
Pelagie  Raincourt  had  inspired  him. 

"  She  is  a  handsome  girl,"  he  replied,  "  but  I 
detest  red-haired  women." 

It  can  be  imagined  what  Pelagie  felt  when  her 
grandmother,  with  infinite  precautions,  told  her 
his  answer,  for  she  had  always  thought  herself 
irresistible. 

Her  despair  and  rage  were  so  great  that  she 
threatened  to  throw  herself  out  of  the  window. 
As  she  was  in  her  room,  on  the  first  story,  she 
leaned  out  so  suddenly  that  her  frightened  grand- 
mother caught  hold  of  her,  and  pulling  her  vio- 
lently backward,  caught  her  foot  in  Pelagie's  long 
gown,  fell  and  dislocated  her  wrist. 

They  sent  for  Doctor  Seron,  who  came  at  once, 
and  more  like  a  bone-setter,  anxious  to  make  an 
effect  on  important  patients  than  like  a  prudent 
surgeon,  he  reset  her  wrist. 

Pelagie  lavished  the  most  affectionate  care  on 
her  beloved  grandmother,  who  was  suffering 
through  her  fault.  She  was  haughty,  almost  in- 

[19] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

solent  to  Doctor  Seron,  who  "  detested  red-haired 
women,"  but  she  struck  him  by  her  extreme  grace, 
and  by  her  wit,  which  he  was  surprised  to  find  so 
original,  so  brilliant  in  a  provincial  girl.  He 
came  twice  a  day,  and,  cruel  though  he  was,  he 
pleased  Pelagie  more  than  ever  with  his  attractive 
Compiegne  accent,  and  that  of  Paris,  a  little  lisp- 
ing. 

But  she  had  endured  too  many  emotions.  She 
was  taken  with  fever  and  obliged  to  go  to  bed. 
Pierre  took  great  interest  in  attending  her,  and 
soon  lost  his  head  seeing  himself  adored  by  an 
attractive,  rich  young  girl  scarcely  sixteen,  and 
loved  maternally  by  her  grandmother,  for  he  had 
always  considered  family  affection  as  the  most 
rare  and  enviable  happiness. 

One  evening  Pierre  declared  his  love  in  as  burn- 
ing words  as  Pelagie  could  desire;  and  then  and 
there  they  both  went  and  knelt  before  her  delighted 
grandmother  and  obtained  her  consent  to  their 
marriage. 

Doctor  Seron  asked  at  once  that  the  wedding 
day  should  be  fixed,  but  they  were  obliged  to  en- 
lighten him  on  the  existing  situation  of  affairs,  and 
to  acquaint  him  with  the  obstacles  to  so  prompt 
a  solution. 

Pierre,  who  was  very  poor  and  in  no  wise  insen- 
[20] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


sible  to  the  advantages  of  his  betrothed's  fortune, 
found  it  somewhat  hard  to  abandon  to  his  father- 
in-law,  as  the  grandmother  advised,  all,  or  the 
greater  part  of,  the  famous  dot  of  his  first  wife, 
which  Monsieur  Raincourt  did  not  wish  to  relin- 
quish. He  proposed  to  reflect  a  few  days  over 
the  best  measures  to  take  and  to  see  a  notary.  But 
the  notary  saw  no  possibility  of  doing  without 
the  father's  consent,  or  to  escape  from  the  con- 
ditions which  Pelagie's  grandmother  presumed  he 
would  exact. 

"  I  will  double,"  said  the  latter,  "  what  I  in- 
tended to  give  Pelagie,  if  her  father  bargains  over 
my  beloved  grandchild's  happiness." 

Doctor  Seron  went  off  to  ask  Monsieur  Rain- 
court  for  his  daughter  Pelagie's  hand,  which  was 
refused  until  he  proposed — if  he  obtained  her 
hand — very  pretty,  by  the  way — to  ask  no  account 
of  his  tutorship. 

The  agreement  was  concluded  and  the  wedding 
day  fixed. 

Pierre  Seron  wrote  again  to  his  mother  and 
father,  persisting  in  begging  some  token  of  their 
affection.  But  he  received  no  word,  not  a  single 
line  from  his  mother,  only  more  curses  from  his 
father. 

He  learned  by  a  letter  from  his  friend  the  herb- 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

alist,  who  consented  to  be  one  of  the  witnesses  to 
his  marriage,  that  his  brother  was  dying  at  Com- 
piegne;  that  his  father,  two  thirds  ruined  by  hav- 
ing lost  his  practice  through  his  too  frequent  jour- 
neys to  Paris  to  snatch  away  his  son  from  his  de- 
baucheries, had  been  struck  with  paralysis. 

Thus  was  misfortune  overwhelming  him  who  had 
.grown  hard  in  injustice  and  in  cruelty,  while  the 
poor  boy,  so  shamefully  driven  from  his  home,  saw 
his  situation  greatly  improved  for  the  better,  and 
the  hour  of  complete  happiness  approaching. 

He  was  about  to  have  his  dreams  realised,  to 
possess  a  fine  fortune,  a  captivating  wife,  of  whom 
he  became  more  and  more  fond,  and  who  loved  him 
madly. 

But  on  the  eve  of  the  day  so  earnestly  desired, 
Pelagie  was  determined  to  provoke  her  sisters, 
already  irritated  at  this  marriage  which  made  her 
so  insolently  happy.  She  wished  to  take  revenge 
for  all  she  had  endured  hearing  her  youngest  sis- 
ter, Sophie,  say  constantly  to  her :  "  You  are  not 
marriageable." 

And,  when  the  contract  was  signed,  when  every- 
thing was  ready  and  all  obstacles  overcome  for 
the  wedding  on  the  morrow,  a  very  violent  scene 
took  place  between  the  future  Madame  Pierre 
Seron  and  her  three  sisters. 
[22] 


MY   GRANDMOTHER 


Pelagie's  stepmother  took  sides  with  her  daugh- 
ters, their  father  with  his  wife,  and  the  marriage 
was  cancelled,  Monsieur  Raincourt  taking  back 
his  consent  and  disavowing  his  promises. 

Pelagie's  grandmother  lost  patience  with  her, 
Pierre  was  in  despair,  and  the  young  girl  took  to 
her  bed,  furious  with  herself,  weeping,  biting  her 
pillow,  haunted  in  her  feverish  sleeplessness  with 
the  most  extraordinary  projects,  and  making  up 
her  mind  to  do  the  most  unheard-of  things. 

At  break  of  day,  beside  herself,  not  knowing 
what  she  was  doing,  she  left  the  house  in  her 
dressing-gown  and  night-cap,  and  started  on  foot 
for  Noyon,  saying  to  herself  she  would  seek 
asylum  with  her  grandmother's  old  friend  and  her 
relative. 

What  she  wished  above  all  was  to  escape  Pierre's 
reproaches,  her  grandmother's  blame,  and  not  to 
hear  the  echo  of  all  the  gossip  of  the  town,  which 
she  knew  would  reach  her  ears.  The  humiliation 
of  being  condemned  by  public  opinion,  the  sorrow 
to  have  made  Pierre  suffer,  who  had  already  suf- 
fered so  much,  was  such  agonising  pain  to  her  that 
she  felt  obliged  to  fly.  She  was  trying  to  escape 
from  her  own  self-condemnation,  which  followed 
her. 

After  proceeding  some  miles,  little  used  to  walk- 
[23] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ing,  exhausted,  she  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  stones, 
her  head  in  her  hands,  weeping  aloud  in  despair. 

A  horseman  passed  in  a  dress  coat  and  white 
cravat,  bare-headed  and  mounted  on  a  saddleless 
horse:  it  was  Pierre,  and  he  saw  her. 

"  Your  father  has  consented  again,"  he  said, 
jumping  off  the  horse.  "  Come  quickly,  I  will  put 
you  up  behind,  and,  to  be  sure  that  he  does  not 
take  back  his  word  again  and  that  you  will  not 
commit  any  other  folly,  we  will  go  straight  to  the 
church,  where  your  grandmother  has  had  every- 
thing prepared.  It  was  she  who  divined  that 
you  had  taken  the  road  to  Noyon,  unless  you 
should  have  come  to  my  house,  for  she  even  sus- 
pected you  of  being  capable  of  that,  silly  girl  that 
you  are ! " 

He  lifted  her  up  on  the  horse,  supported  her 
there  with  one  arm,  while  with  the  other  hand  he 
held  a  simple  halter  passed  round  the  animal's  neck. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  it  is  high  time  you 
should  have  a  master.  You  deserve  to  be 
whipped." 

"  But,"  she  replied,  made  merry  with  the  roman- 
tic adventure ;  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  married  in 
a  night-cap." 

"Why  not?  It  is  a  penance  you  deserve,  and 
you  have  great  need  of  absolution.  You  can  dress 
[24] 


MY  GRANDMOTHER 


yourself  as  a  bride  when  you  have  become  one,  at 
the  end  of  the  wedding." 

And  so  it  was,  sitting  up  behind  a  bare-backed 
horse,  that  my  grandmother  made  her  entrance 
into  Chauny.  It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  all  the  gossips  were  at  the  windows,  in  the 
street,  and  at  the  church  door. 

Pelagic  got  down  from  the  horse,  with  hair 
dishevelled  under  her  night-cap,  and  her  eyes  still 
swollen  from  tears.  A  woman  in  the  street  pinned 
a  white  pink  on  her  night-cap,  and  she  entered  the 
church  on  Pierre's  arm.  There  was  a  general  out- 
burst of  laughter.  Never  had  such  a  bride  been 
seen. 

The  old  priest,  who  was  attached  to  Pelagic  on 
account  of  her  charity  and  kindness,  could  not 
keep  from  laughing  himself,  and  he  made  haste, 
smiling  through  half  of  the  ceremony. 

Pelagic  turned  and  faced  the  crowd.  People 
thought  her  confusion  would  make  her  feel  like 
sinking  to  the  ground.  "  It  is  a  merry  marriage," 
was  all  she  said.  And  thus  was  my  very  romantic 
grandmother  married,  scandalising  a  great  num- 
ber of  persons  and  amusing  others. 

The  white  pink  and  the  night-cap  became  family 
relics.  I  have  seen  and  held  them  in  my  hand, 
knowing  their  history. 

[25] 


II 


WHEN    THE   ALLIES    WERE   AT    THE   GATES   OP   PARIS 

JWENTY  days  after  his  marriage,  although 
he  had  drawn  one  of  the  first  numbers  when 
the  drawing  for  lots  for  the  army  took  place,  Doc- 
tor Seron  received  orders  to  leave  for  the  imperial 
army  as  surgeon.  He  was  obliged  to  find  a  sur- 
geon to  take  his  place,  and  this  cost  a  very  large 
sum. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  Madame  Pierre  Seron 
became  the  mother  of  twin  daughters.  The  young 
couple  were  perfectly  happy.  The  poor,  aban- 
doned child  had  become  a  tender,  glad  father,  who 
would  return  often  to  the  house  to  rock  his  daugh- 
ters and  to  amuse  them  by  singing  to  them. 

The  children  were  not  eight  months  old  when 
the  poor  young  surgeon  received  new  orders  to 
join  the  Imperial  army  in  Germany.  Pierre  Seron 
did  not  look  for  a  substitute  this  time.  His  wife's 
dot  was  diminishing  too  fast,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  think  of  future  dots  for  his  daughters.  He  left 
them  with  a  breaking  heart. 

Pelagie's  grandmother  went  to  live  with  her, 
because  it  was  impossible  to  leave  the  young 

[26] 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  PARIS 

woman  alone,  especially  as  her  father,  stepmother, 
and  sisters,  to  whom  Doctor  Seron  had  turned  a 
cold  shoulder,  often  making  them  ridiculous  by 
his  witty  remarks,  and  whose  lives  he  had  made 
quite  unpleasant,  would  seize  the  young  surgeon's 
departure  as  an  occasion  to  revenge  themselves; 
but  Pelagie  and  her  grandmother  were  upheld  by 
Pierre's  numerous  friends,  and  all  the  town  took 
sides  with  the  half -widowed  young  woman,  and 
blamed  and  annoyed  Monsieur  Raincourt  to  such 
a  degree  that  he  finally  left  Chauny  to  go  and 
settle  in  the  department  of  Soissons,  from  whence 
his  second  wife  had  come. 

Pelagie  breathed  freely,  for  her  father  had  never 
ceased  to  annoy  her.  But,  alas !  misfortune  came 
to  overwhelm  her.  She  lost  her  grandmother  and 
was  left  alone  as  head  of  the  family,  and  obliged, 
before  she  was  eighteen,  to  look  after  her  fortune, 
and  the  intervals  between  the  times  when  she  re- 
ceived news  from  her  husband  became  more  and 
more  lengthened. 

One  morning  Chauny  awoke  threatened  with 
war.  The  Allies  were  at  the  town's  gates,  and  it 
was  said  they  plundered  everything  on  their  way, 
and,  what  was  worse,  the  first  eight  Prussians  who 
had  appeared  on  the  canal  bridge  had  been  slain. 
Two  hours  after,  the  inhabitants  of  Chauny  were 

[27] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

apprised  that  if  they  did  not  pay  within  twenty- 
four  hours  an  enormous  war  indemnity  they  would 
all  be  put  to  the  sword. 

Madame  Seron,  alone,  without  protection,  was 
one  of  the  most  heavily  taxed,  and  in  order  to  pay 
the  share  exacted  from  her,  she  was  obliged  to 
make  ruinous  engagements. 

She  passed  a  night  digging  a  hole  in  her  cellar 
under  a  large  cask  which  she  removed  with  diffi- 
culty, and  which  the  wet-nurse  of  one  of  her  young 
daughters — she  nursed  the  other  one  herself — 
aided  her  in  replacing.  In  this  hole  she  hid  her 
jewels,  her  silver,  and  a  box  containing  her  most 
valuable  papers.  This  done,  she  decided,  like 
many  others,  to  abandon  her  house,  very  promi- 
nent on  the  square,  where  the  invaders  were  to 
come  and  be  lodged. 

The  inhabitants  lost  their  heads,  they  fled  and 
hid  themselves  in  the  woods,  where  the  enemy,  they 
said,  would  not  venture. 

Madame  Seron  took  a  few  clothes  with  her  and 
a  little  linen,  which  she  put  in  a  bag  and  carried 
on  her  back  like  a  poor  woman.  The  wet-nurse 
carried  the  two  babies,  and  they  set  forth  on  the 
road  to  Viry. 

On  the  way  Madame  Seron  saw  a  convoy  of 
mules  returning  unladen  from  the  town  whither 
[28] 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  PARIS 

they  had  carried  wood.  Each  mule  had  two  bas- 
kets attached  to  his  pack-saddle.  She  put  the 
nurse  on  one  of  them  and  one  of  the  little  twins 
in  each  basket.  The  nurse  was  a  peasant  and 
knew  how  to  ride  a  mule,  but  the  young  mother 
was  now  afraid  of  everything,  and,  instead  of 
mounting  another,  she  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
one  carrying  her  little  ones,  resting  her  hand  on 
one  of  the  baskets. 

She  met  the  Messrs,  de  Sainte-Aldegonde  on 
horseback,  wearing  white  gloves,  who,  the  mule- 
driver  said,  had  been  writing  for  their  "  good 
friends  the  enemies  "  for  several  days  and  were 
now  going  to  meet  them. 

The  Messrs,  de  Sainte-Aldegonde  were  gallop- 
ing, and  the  brisk  pace  of  their  horses  roused  the 
mules,  which  started  off  in  a  mad  race.  The  nurse 
was  thrown  off.  The  little  children  screamed  with 
pain;  their  mother  running,  frightened,  cried  and 
supplicated  for  help. 

"  Never,"  said  she  afterward,  "  did  I  suffer  such 
torture." 

The  mule-driver  jumped  on  one  of  the  hinder- 
most  mules  and  galloped  towards  the  one  whose 
baskets  held  the  twins.  He  stopped  it,  and  their 
mother  and  the  nurse,  who  was  only  slightly 
wounded  on  the  forehead  and  cheek,  ran  and  res- 
[29] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

cued  the  babies  from  the  baskets,  who,  with  their 
hands  and  faces  covered  with  blood,  had  fainted. 
The  wretched  women  held  them  in  their  arms,  look- 
ing at  them  overcome  with  grief,  and,  as  if  dumb- 
stricken,  uttering  not  a  word,  they  wept. 

Mechanically  they  turned  back  on  the  road  to 
Chauny,  not  knowing  where  they  went,  nor  what 
they  were  doing,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  motionless 
and  bleeding  little  faces.  They  entered  a  house, 
where  they  asked  for  water  and  washed  the  wounds. 
The  poor  mother  had  kept  the  knapsack  and  bag 
of  linen.  They  undressed  the  little  ones,  changed 
their  blood-stained  frocks,  rubbed  them  with  vin- 
egar and  brandy,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
they  opened  their  eyes  and  began  to  sob  and 
cry. 

Their  wounds  continued  to  bleed  and  they  were 
pitiful  to  behold.  When  Madame  Seron  reached 
her  house  some  Cossacks  were  about  to  blow  open 
the  closed  door;  the  nurse  approached  with  the 
key  and  opened  it.  She  also  had  her  forehead  and 
cheek  tied  up  with  a  bloody  cloth.  The  child  she 
was  carrying  was  groaning,  the  other  in  the  moth- 
er's arms  was  crying. 

The  Cossacks  spoke  a  little  French  and  were 
touched  with  pity  at  the  sight.  There  were  four 
of  them,  two  of  whom  took  the  babies  and  held 
[30] 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  PARIS 

them  in  their  arms  while  the  mother  and  nurse 
washed  their  poor  little  faces  and  applied  court- 
plaster  to  the  wounds. 

Madame  Seron,  after  a  few  hours,  felt  a  little 
reassured  about  her  children  and  was  completely 
at  rest  regarding  the  Cossacks,  whom  she  treated 
as  kindly  as  she  could.  The  following  days  they 
assisted  in  doing  the  housework,  the  cook  having 
fled  to  the  woods.  They  walked  with  the  children, 
amused  them,  and  took  devoted  care  of  them,  for 
the  little  ones  had  not  recovered  from  the  shock 
they  had  suffered;  their  nurses'  milk,  disturbed  by 
fright,  gave  them  fever.  The  children  grew 
weaker  and,  in  spite  of  the  energetic  care  that  a 
doctor,  a  friend  of  their  father's,  took  of  them, 
he  could  not  save  them;  they  were  taken  with  con- 
vulsions and  both  died  on  the  same  day.  The 
Cossacks  wept  over  them  with  their  mother. 

Quite  alone  now,  suffering  from  her  country's 
misfortunes,  for  she  was  very  patriotic,  in  despair 
at  her  beloved  little  children's  death  and  that  of 
her  grandmother,  at  her  husband's  absence  and  the 
dangers  he  was  incurring,  cheated  by  the  men  of 
business  with  whom  she  was  struggling,  life  became 
so  horribly  hard  to  the  young  woman  that  she  at- 
tempted to  kill  herself.  A  Cossack  saved  her,  and 
his  comrades  and  he  tried  to  console  her  in  such 
[31] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

a  simple,  touching  manner  that  she  sadly  took  up 
life  again. 

Madame  Seron  repeated  all  her  life,  and  in  later 
years  she  profoundly  engrafted  in  me,  her  grand- 
child, this  axiom :  "  One  must  hate  the  English,  fear 
Prussian  brutality,  and  love  the  Russians." 

My  grandfather  returned  from  the  army  fol- 
lowed by  a  German  woman,  who  would  not  leave 
him,  and  who  refused  to  believe  in  his  marriage. 
He  had  great  trouble  in  getting  rid  of  her,  and 
succeeded  in  so  doing  only  because  his  wife  took 
up  arms  against  her.  Wounded  to  the  quick, 
Pelagie  found  courage  to  counteract  this  influ- 
ence only  in  her  passion  for  the  romantic.  She 
was  enacting  a  romance  and  her  struggles  with  her 
rival  were  full  of  incident.  Finally  she  succeeded, 
after  having  been  assailed  in  her  own  house  by 
the  German,  in  having  the  woman  taken  to  the 
frontier. 

Doctor  Seron  had  been  present  at  many  bat- 
tles, among  which  those  of  Lutzen  and  of  Bautzen 
were  the  principal.  He  talked  much  about  them, 
as  he  also  did  of  the  arms  and  legs  he  had  ampu- 
tated with  his  master,  Larrey,  surgeon-in-chief  of 
the  Imperial  armies,  the  number  of  which  increased 
every  year. 

Pierre's  conjugal  fidelity,  lost  during  his  cam- 
[32] 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  PARIS 

paigns,  never  returned.  He  became  a  sort  of  Don 
Juan,  about  whose  conquests  the  ill-natured  tongues 
of  the  town  were  always  wagging.  When  I  grew 
up,  how  many  great-uncles  were  pointed  out  to  me ! 

Having  been  deprived  of  wine  in  Germany,  he 
loved  it  all  the  more  on  his  return  to  France.  Very 
sober  in  the  morning  until  breakfast  hour,  at  which 
time  he  returned  home  after  having  performed 
his  operations  at  the  hospital  or  in  the  town,  he 
drank  regularly  every  day  a  dozen  bottles  of  a 
light  Macon  wine,  always  the  same.  To  say  that 
this  great,  portly  man  got  drunk  would  be  an 
exaggeration,  but  in  the  afternoon  he  was  talka- 
tive, full  of  jokes  and  braggings  to  such  a  degree 
that  all  the  white  lies,  all  the  jests  that  were  told 
at  Chauny  and  its  environs  were  called  "  sere- 
nades." 

My  grandmother's  passion  for  her  husband 
faded  away>  illusion  after  illusion,  in  spite  of  the 
prodigious  effort  she  made  not  to  condemn  my 
grandfather  on  the  first  proofs  he  gave  of  his 
sensual  appetites,  of  his  brutal  way  of  enjoying 
life.  Pierre's  strength  was  so  great  that  in  all 
physical  exercises,  hunting,  and  fishing  he  wore 
out  the  most  intrepid;  his  love  for  excitement  was 
so  artless,  his  gaiety  so  exuberant  that  people  over- 
looked the  sensual  self-indulgence  of  his  tempera- 
4  [33] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ment,  his  excesses  even,  when  they  would  not  have 
pardoned  them  in  others. 

But  little  by  little  they  wearied  of  all  this  at  his 
home,  while  his  friends  could  not  have  enough  of 
him.  His  wife  saw  him  depart  at  dawn  and  not 
return  until  far  into  the  night  without  regret.  He 
was  never  late  for  meals,  about  which  great  care 
had  to  be  taken  for  him. 

"  It  is  elementary  politeness,"  he  would  say, 
drawing  out  his  lisping  accent  on  the  word  "  ele- 
mentary," "  not  to  leave  the  companion  of  one's 
home,  if  not  of  one's  life,  alone  at  table." 


[34] 


Ill 

THE    MARRIAGE    OF    MY    FATHER    AND    MOTHER 

0  DAUGHTER,  Olympe,  was  born  to  them 
after  the  German  woman's  departure;  her 
mother  nursed  her,  brought  her  up  with  loving 
care,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  the  imaginative 
Pelagie  dreamed  at  an  early  hour  of  the  possible 
romance  of  the  future  marriage  of  her  only  child. 

Unfortunately  Olympe  distressed  her  by  the 
fantastical  turn  of  her  mind.  She  took  great 
interest  from  her  earliest  age  in  the  details  of 
housekeeping,  was  troublesome,  humdrum  even, 
said  her  mother. 

She  disliked  to  read,  was  much  annoyed  at  her 
father's  absence  from  home,  whose  motives  she 
loudly  incriminated.  Urged  to  this  by  the  ser- 
vants' stories,  she  quarrelled  with  him,  bitterly  re- 
proached her  mother  for  the  number  of  books  she 
read;  and  she  introduced  into  the  home,  where  the 
careless  indifference  of  one  member,  the  resigna- 
tion of  the  other,  might  have  brought  about  peace, 
an  agitation  which  fed  the  constant  disputes. 

However,  the  husband  and  wife,  so  much  dis- 
united, were  proud  of  their  daughter's  beauty. 
Her  father  would  often  say :  "  She  deserves  a 
[35] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

prince,"  while  her  mother  would  reply :  "  A  shep- 
herd would  please  her  better." 

Nothing  foretold  that  this  admirable  statue 
would  be  animated  some  day.  Olympe  was  fifteen 
years  old,  and  in  her  family  the  marriage  bells 
had  always  rung  at  that  age.  Olympe's  parents 
were  humiliated  at  the  thought  that  no  one  had 
as  yet  asked  for  their  daughter's  hand. 

The  romantic  Pelagie  dreamed  of  an  "  unfore- 
seen "  marriage  for  Olympe,  as  she  had  done  for- 
merly for  herself.  But  no  predictions  had  been 
made  concerning  it.  Madame  Seron  could  never 
induce  her  daughter  to  go  to  a  fortune-teller  with 
her.  Alas!  the  way  seemed  obscure,  but  just  as 
it  had  been  impossible  for  her  to  find  her  own  hero 
among  the  youths  of  the  town,  so  did  it  seem  im- 
possible to  discover  another  hero  for  Olympe  at 
Chauny. 

How  was  it,  one  would  say,  that  she  did  not 
judge  her  own  experience  of  the  "  unforeseen " 
lamentable?  On  the  contrary,  Pelagie  regretted 
nothing,  and,  were  it  to  be  done  over  again,  she 
would  have  made  the  same  marriage,  taking  all  its 
consequences. 

The  desired  romance  had,  after  all,  been  written. 
How  many  finalities  of  marriage  resembled  hers! 
The  important  thing  was  to  have  loved.  Her  Don 
[36] 


MARRIAGE  OF  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

Juan  of  a  husband  did  not  disgust  her.  She,  the 
faithful  wife,  although  living  in  a  manner  sepa- 
rated from  him,  still  preserved,  in  the  romance  of 
her  life,  a  role  in  no  wise  commonplace.  Her  hus- 
band, obliged  to  respect  her,  could  not  forget  the 
past  either,  and  he  sometimes  courteously  alluded 
to  it,  adding :  "  I  am  always  constant  to  my  affec- 
tion for  my  better  half,  even  amid  my  incon- 
stancies." 

And  this  was  quite  true.  He  did  really  love  his 
wife,  and  would  not  have  hesitated  to  sacrifice  his 
most  devoted  women  friends  to  her.  He  never  op- 
posed any  of  her  plans,  and  he  repeated  her  words : 
"  What  shall  we  do,  where  shall  we  seek,  how  shall 
we  discover  a  husband  for  Olympe?  " 

They  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Noyon,  the  house  on 
the  square  having  become  hateful  to  Madame  Se- 
ron,  who  had  lost,  while  living  in  it,  her  grand- 
mother and  her  twins,  and  had  also  suffered  there 
from  the  invasion  and  from  scenes  with  the  Ger- 
man woman.  Now,  in  this  street,  opposite  to  one 
of  the  windows  of  the  large  drawing-room  where 
Pelagic  passed  the  greater  part  of  her  days  em- 
broidering, and  especially  devouring  novels  by  the 
dozen,  was  the  large  front  door  of  a  young  boys' 
school.  Madame  Seron  knew  every  pupil,  every 
professor. 

[37] 

304296 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

She  had  remarked  among  the  latter  a  young 
man  of  tall  stature  and  handsome  presence,  who 
never  left  the  school  without  a  book  in  his  hand. 
He  bowed  respectfully  to  her  several  times  a  day, 
for  she  involuntarily  raised  her  eyes  every  time 
the  door  opposite  was  shut  noisily. 

One  evening,  when  the  master  of  the  school,  M. 
Blangy,  came  to  consult  Doctor  Seron,  whom  he 
knew  he  would  find  at  meal-time,  Madame  Seron 
questioned  him  about  his  new  professor. 

"  He  has  a  very  romantic  history." 

"  Tell  us  about  him." 

"  His  name  is  Jean  Louis  Lambert.  His  father, 
when  a  baby,  was  brought  one  day  dressed  in  a 
richly  embroidered  frock  covered  with  lace  by  a 
midwife  to  a  well-to-do  farmer  of  Pontoise,  near 
Noyon,  who,  having  no  children,  consented  to 
receive  the  child  (who,  the  midwife  said,  was  an 
orphan),  and  to  bring  him  up.  A  girl  was  born 
to  the  farmer  five  years  later,  and  the  two  young 
persons,  who  loved  each  other,  were  married  after- 
wards. 

"  My  professor  is  the  eldest  of  four  children. 
His  father  wished  to  make  him  a  priest  and  placed 
him  at  the  Seminary  of  Beauvais.  On  entering 
there  he  was  remarked  for  his  intelligence,  his 
religious  ardour,  his  poetic  talent,  and  for  his 
[38] 


MARRIAGE  OF  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

theological  science,  and  they  soon  endowed  him 
with  the  minor  orders. 

"  The  archbishop  of  Beauvais  became  his  pro- 
tector and  made  Jean  Louis  Lambert  his  secre- 
tary. He  was  not  bigoted,  but  very  pious,  even 
mystical,  and  they  hastened  on  for  him  the  mo- 
ment when  he  should  be  invested  with  the  major 
orders. 

"  On  the  evening  before  the  day  when  he  was  to 
pronounce  his  new  sacerdotal  vows,  he  was  pres- 
ent at  a  dinner  which  the  archbishop  gave  to  the 
members  of  the  high  clergy  of  his  diocese,  and  he 
heard  these  gentlemen  talk  at  table  like  ordinary 
convivial  guests.  As  the  dinner  went  on,  they 
exchanged  witty  remarks  on  things  terrestrial  and 
even  celestial,  which  seemed  to  Jean  Louis  Lambert 
suggested  by  the  devil  himself.  A  stupid  joke 
about  the  pillars  of  the  church  confessing  idle  non- 
sense completely  revolted  the  young  postulant. 
On  account  of  a  few  jests  the  young  fellow,  who 
was  so  artless,  so  little  worldly,  felt  the  whole 
scaffolding  of  his  faith  fall  to  the  ground.  He 
wished  to  speak,  to  cry  anathema  to  those  who 
seemed  blasphemers  to  him,  but,  trembling,  he  slid 
out  of  the  dining-room,  went  up  to  his  room,  took 
a  valise,  in  which  he  packed  his  books,  the  manu- 
script of  his  '  Canticles  to  the  Virgin,'  his  scant 
[39] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

wardrobe,  and  left  the  archbishop's  residence  half 
wild.  Almost  running,  he  walked  twenty-four 
leagues,  and  arrived  at  his  father's  house  ex- 
hausted, in  despair,  and  declared  he  would  never 
be  a  priest. 

"  His  excitement,  the  mad  race  he  had  run,  gave 
him  so  bad  a  fever  that  his  life  was  in  danger. 
When  he  was  cured  he  was  obliged  to  suffer  the 
pious  exhortations  of  the  old  village  priest  who 
had  instructed  him;  his  masters  came  themselves 
to  endeavour  to  win  him  back  and  calm  his  indig- 
nation. They  succeeded  in  proving  to  him  that  he 
had  exaggerated  things  to  a  ridiculous  degree,  but 
the  ideal  of  his  vocation  was  so  shattered  that  his 
disillusions  soon  made  him  an  atheist. 

"  I  confess  to  you,"  added  M.  Blangy,  "  that 
I  am  somewhat  alarmed  at  having  him  as  profess- 
or of  philosophy,  and  I  made  some  observations 
lately  which  offended  him;  but  he  is  such  a  hard 
worker,  and  so  intelligent,  so  full  of  loyalty  and 
so  conscientious,  that  in  spite  of  my  fears  I  do 
not  regret  having  taken  him  into  my  school.  His 
pupils  adore  him  and  make  rapid  progress  with 
him,  and  were  it  not  for  his  passion  for  negation, 
I  think  I  should  take  him  as  my  partner." 

This  was  sufficient  to  inflame  Olympe's  moth- 
er's imagination.  A  romance  was  within  her 
[40] 


MARRIAGE  OF  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

reach.  She  would  protect  this  young  man,  thrown 
out  of  place,  who  had  abandoned  his  first  pro- 
posed career  and  who  was  without  fortune ;  she 
would  make  something  of  him,  and  induce  him  to 
accept  the  career  she  proposed  for  him,  that  of  a 
physician.  She  would  have  in  him  a  grateful  son, 
who  should  become  her  daughter's  husband,  and, 
perhaps,  the  father  of  a  little  girl  whom  she  would 
love  as  her  grandmother  had  loved  her,  and  whom 
she  would  bring  up  as  she  had  been  educated. 

"  As  badly  ?  "  asked  her  husband,  laughing,  to 
whom  she  at  once  confided  her  plans. 

One  Sunday  Madame  Seron  invited  Jean  Louis 
Lambert  to  breakfast.  He  almost  lost  his  mind 
with  joy,  for  he  was  hopelessly  in  love  with 
Olympe,  his  inaccessible  star. 

After  breakfast  my  grandfather,  according  to 
his  habit,  hastened  to  leave  the  house,  understand- 
ing besides  that  he  would  be  in  the  way.  Olympe 
also  having  left  home  to  pass  the  afternoon  with 
a  friend,  the  romantic  Pelagie,  alone  with  her  pro- 
tege, whom  she  already  called  to  herself  her  "  dear 
child,"  experienced  one  of  the  sweetest  joys  of 
her  life. 

She  questioned  him,  and — miracle  of  miracles! 
His  great  ambition  was  to  be  a  doctor!  But  he 
could  not  impose  upon  his  parents  the  expense  that 
[41] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

would  necessitate  the  taking  up  of  a  new  career. 
They  were  all  so  good  to  him,  his  sisters  so  de- 
voted; and  his  young  brother  had  just  entered  the 
army  in  order  that  he  should  not  be  obliged  to  per- 
form his  military  service. 

Madame  Seron  waded  in  complete  felicity.  She 
talked,  and  appeared  to  the  young  professor  like 
some  unreal,  beneficent  fairy,  who,  with  a  touch 
of  her  magic  wand,  changes  a  woodcutter  into  a 
prince,  a  disinherited  man  into  the  most  fortunate 
one  in  the  world. 

Jean  Louis  Lambert's  emotion,  his  gratitude, 
were  expressed  in  such  noble,  almost  passionate, 
terms  that  it  brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
at  once  assumed  the  role  of  an  ideal  mother  to 
him. 

They  agreed,  approved,  and  understood  each 
other  in  everything.  Jean  Louis — his  protectrice 
already  left  off  the  Lambert — during  the  next 
three  months  would  prepare  himself  for  his  new 
studies,  and  then,  on  some  very  plausible  pretext, 
would  leave  the  school  and  go  to  Paris,  where  his 
future  mother-in-law,  as  an  advance  on  her  daugh- 
ter's dot,  would  provide  for  all  expenses  until  he 
should  have  passed  his  examinations. 

He  would  study  doubly  hard,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
should  have  obtained  his  degrees,  he  would  return 
[42] 


MARRIAGE  OF  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

and  marry  Olympe,  whom,  meanwhile,  her  mother 
would  influence  favourably  towards  the  match. 

Isolated  in  Paris,  with  but  one  friend  from 
Chauny,  Bergeron,  who  later  fired  a  pistol  at 
Louis  Philippe,  Jean  Louis  worked  with  passion- 
ate ardour.  In  love  for  the  first  time  and  with  the 
woman  whom  he  knew  would  be  his  wife,  infatuated 
with  his  studies,  his  mystical  adoration  for  the 
Virgin  transformed  into  a  desire  to  possess  the 
object  he  adored,  he  lived  in  a  fever,  impatient  to 
deserve  the  promised  happiness,  and  finding  the 
reward  for  all  his  struggles  far  superior  to  the 
efforts  he  made  to  acquire  it. 

Doctor  Seron  completely  approved  his  wife's 
romantic  plan,  considering  that  it  was  without 
question  his  place,  who  had  been  so  cruelly  aban- 
doned by  all  save  the  humble,  to  protect  a  young, 
hard-working,  and  virtuous  man. 

This  latter  adjective  he  rolled  out  with  great 
emphasis,  which  much  amused  Olympe's  mother 
every  time  he  pronounced  it. 

"  No  one  more  than  myself  esteems,  admires, 
and  honours  purity  and  virtue,"  said  Pelagie's 
amusing  husband,  "  for  no  one  is  so  conscious  of 
the  rarity,  the  beauty  of  these  two  traits." 

A  renewal  of  good  feeling  flourished  between 
the  husband  and  wife.  Every  letter  from  their 
[43] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

future  son-in-law  was  read,  commented  upon,  ad- 
mired, and  even  re-read  by  them  both ;  these  youth- 
ful, exuberant,  loving  letters,  often  containing 
very  good  poetry,  rejuvenated  the  parents'  hearts, 
already  extremely  proud  of  him  whom  they  called 
between  themselves :  "  Our  son." 

Olympe,  while  her  parents  were  enthusiastic, 
was  perfectly  indifferent.  One  day,  when  they 
were  both  exasperated  at  her,  they  asked  whether 
or  not  she  would  consent  to  this  marriage.  The 
young  girl  replied  to  her  anxious  mother,  and  to 
her  father,  revolted  at  seeing  her  so  prosaic: 

"  Since  you  desire  it,  since  you  have  committed 
yourselves  so  far  that  you  cannot  withdraw,  I  will 
resign  myself  to  it.  Where  you  have  tied  the 
goat  she  will  browse." 

Ah!  that  phrase,  what  a  role  it  played  in  the 
disputes  between  the  Lambert  and  Seron  families, 
so  frequent  in  later  years. 

Olympe's  parents  were  assailed  day  and  night 
by  these  words,  which  they  repeated  to  themselves 
aghast.  "  Where  you  have  tied  the  goat  she  will 
browse." 

Jean  Louis  Lambert  returned  to   Chauny  and 
was   married,   a   little   disappointed   at  his   wife's 
coldness,  but  trusting  to  his  passion  to  inspire  her 
with  the  love  he  himself  felt. 
[44] 


MARRIAGE  OF  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

Olympe  Lambert  was  tall,  with  a  handsome  fig- 
ure like  her  mother's ;  she  had  an  olive  complexion, 
large,  velvety,  and  luminous  eyes,  a  charming 
mouth  with  small  teeth,  a  delicate  nose  with  pink 
nostrils,  brown  hair  with  ruddy  tints  in  it,  hand- 
some arms  and  hands,  and  a  very  small  foot.  It 
was  impossible  to  discover  a  more  fascinating 
creature  to  look  at  and  one  of  less  good-humour. 


[45] 


IV 


BORN     IN    AN     INN 

lOCTOR  SERON,  after  the  death  of  his 
parents,  had  renewed  acquaintance  with  one 
of  his  uncles  on  the  maternal  side,  a  physician  in 
a  hamlet  in  the  department  of  Oise,  between 
Verberie  and  Seulis.  This  uncle,  then  very  old, 
had  become  a  widower  and,  being  without  children, 
he  ceded  his  practice  to  the  son-in-law  of  his  only 
remaining  relative,  and  gladly  welcomed  the  young 
couple  in  his  house. 

Living  with  his  uncle,  following  his  counsels,  Jean 
Louis  Lambert  succeeded  marvellously  well  with  his 
new  patients  for  three  years.  A  son  was  born  to 
them,  and  the  young  people  were  happy,  he  sing- 
ing always  the  praise  of  love  in  his  letters  to  his 
mother  and  father-in-law,  while  she  "  browsed " 
agreeably  without  wishing  to  confess  it. 

Doctor  and  Madame  Seron  congratulated  them- 
selves daily  for  the  happy  choice  they  had  made 
in  their  daughter's  husband. 

But  misfortunes  came,  one  after  another,  to  the 
young  couple.  Their  great-uncle  died  suddenly 

[46] 


BORN  IN  AN  INN 


of  an  attack  of  apoplexy.  Their  well-beloved  son, 
who,  even  at  the  age  of  eighteen  months,  gave 
proof  of  exceptional  intelligence,  died  after  a 
three  days'  illness  from  the  effects  of  a  violent 
scolding  from  his  mother,  which  gave  him  convul- 
sions ;  finally,  the  small  borough  they  inhabited 
was  entirely  burned  down,  except  their  grand- 
uncle's  house  which  his  nephews  had  inherited,  and 
which  Madame  Lambert,  with  a  heroism  admired 
by  everyone,  saved  from  the  flames  with  a  small 
watering-pump,  in  spite  of  the  wounds  she  re- 
ceived from  the  burning  brands. 

The  small  borough  was  completely  destroyed, 
deserted,  ruined;  the  young  physician's  patients 
were  dispersed  and  captured  by  competition  in  an 
adjacent  town.  The  uncle's  house  was  sold  at  a 
very  bad  bargain,  the  furniture  given  away,  so  to 
say,  and,  after  some  debts  had  been  paid,  there  re- 
mained very  little  for  the  young  couple,  who  took 
refuge  at  Verberie  at  the  Hotel  of  The  Three 
Monarchs. 

The  dot,  broken  into  for  Jean  Louis  Lambert's 
studies,  and  wasted  afterwards  in  expensive  chem- 
ical experiments — he  had  had  a  laboratory  built  for 
himself — dripped  away  as  money  always  dripped 
through  the  impracticable  hands  of  Olympe's 
husband. 

[47] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

As  he  was  very  intimate  with  the  Decamps, 
Alexandre,  and  the  painter,  who  lived  near  Verberie 
during  the  summer,  Jean  Louis  hoped  to  create  a 
position  for  himself  in  new  surroundings. 

A  certain  Doctor  Bernhardt,  a  great  chemist, 
who  lived  at  Compiegne  and  often  went  to  visit  his 
friends,  the  Decamps,  struck  with  the  science  and 
original  views  of  the  young  physician,  proposed 
to  make  him  a  partner  in  certain  researches  which 
were  to  bring  about  a  discovery  as  extraordinary 
as  that  of  the  philosopher's  stone. 

One  fine  day,  influenced  by  the  Decamps,  fas- 
cinated by  a  sort  of  German  Mephistopheles,  he 
left  his  wife,  who  was  expecting  the  birth  of  a 
child,  at  the  Hotel  of  The  Three  Monarchs;  but 
he  was  to  receive  a  large  salary  and  go  to  see  her 
every  Sunday  until  the  time  came  when  he  could 
settle  her  in  a  home  at  Compiegne. 

Madame  Lambert,  after  her  baby  son's  death, 
had  wounded  her  mother  cruelly.  The  latter  had 
scarcely  seen  her  and  her  husband  more  than  three 
times  at  Chauny  in  three  years.  She  invited  her 
to  make  her  a  visit,  saying  they  could  mourn  over 
the  child  together  and  adding  that  only  a  mother 
with  her  affection  could  console  a  daughter  for  a 
son's  loss. 

Olympe  wrote  to  her  mother  that  her  sorrow  was 
[48] 


BORN  IN  AN  INN 


too  dumb  to  be  understood  by  her.  Madame  Seron, 
in  despair  at  receiving  such  a  letter,  addressed  one 
to  her  son-in-law;  but  as  it  was  at  the  time  when 
the  fire  took  place,  her  letter  received  no  direct  re- 
sponse. Jean  Louis  merely  related  to  her  in  full 
the  details  of  the  catastrophe  of  the  small  borough 
and  of  Olympe's  heroism  which  had  saved  the 
house,  and  he  added  unkindly,  being  ungrateful 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life :  "  Your  daughter's 
heroism  was  not  expressed  merely  in  words."  He 
thus  accentuated  the  tone  of  his  wife's  letter  in- 
stead of  attenuating  it. 

He  did  not  wish  to  have  any  explanations  with 
his  mother-in-law,  neither  to  have  her  come  to  his 
house,  nor  to  go  to  hers,  knowing  very  well  that  if 
circumstances  had  turned  against  him  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  them  in  part  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  mismanaged  his  resources. 

The  sale  of  the  house,  the  departure  for  Ver- 
berie,  his  entering  Doctor  Bernhardt's  employ,  all 
was  done  without  a  word  from  Jean  Louis  to  his 
father  and  mother-in-law. 

Doctor  Seron  heard  of  these  things  from  his 
friend,  the  herbalist  of  Compiegne,  who  came  to 
warn  him  about  Doctor  Bernhardt  and  to  give  him 
the  most  alarming  information  concerning  him. 
He  was  worse  than  an  impostor,  living  a  luxurious 

5  [49] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

life,  and  pulling  wool  over  people's  eyes;  it  was 
said  he  was  a  swindler. 

Madame  Seron,  on  hearing  this,  addressed  a  su- 
preme appeal  to  her  son-in-law,  enlightening  him 
on  the  danger  he  was  running,  but,  alas!  it  was 
too  late.  Jean  Louis,  completely  hypnotised  by 
Doctor  Bernhardt,  following  his  researches  with 
passion,  not  only  received  no  salary,  but  he  had 
thrown  the  money  received  from  the  sale  of  the 
house  and  what  remained  of  his  wife's  dot  into 
Doctor  Bernhardt's  crucible,  which  was  like  that 
of  the  philosopher's  stone. 

I  was  born  at  the  Hotel  of  The  Three  Mon- 
archs.  My  father  announced  the  happy  event 
to  my  grandmother  by  this  simple  note :  "  Your 
grandchild,  born  on  the  4th  of  October  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  is  called  Juliette." 

What!  this  granddaughter,  so  much  dreamed 
of,  so  much  desired,  was  there,  at  Verberie,  not  far 
off,  and  she  could  not  run  to  embrace  her,  to  take 
and  hold  her  for  an  instant  in  her  arms? 

My  grandmother  did  not  cease  weeping  and 
my  grandfather  shed  tears  with  her. 

"  Think,  Pierre,  of  that  little  one  in  an  inn,  of 
Olympe,  our  daughter,  in  such  a  place,  with,  per- 
haps, only  a  partition  separating  her  from  some 
drunken  brute  making  a  noise.  Oh !  it  will  kill  me." 
[50] 


BORN   IN  AN  INN 


"  And  her  husband  far  from  her,  and  in  his 
perpetual  goings  and  comings  not  able  to  watch 
over  our  only  child's  health  or  that  of  our  grand- 
daughter," added  Doctor  Seron,  "  it  is  dreadful." 
And,  with  hands  clasped  together,  they  sobbed. 
What  was  to  be  done? 

They  wrote  again  several  times,  but  received 
only  one  answer  as  curt  as  it  was  short: 

"  The  mother  and  child  are  well." 

A  commercial  traveller,  a  patient  of  my  grand- 
father, had  heard  at  Verberie  that  my  father  was 
a  victim  of  a  miserable  fellow,  who  imposed  upon 
him,  making  him  work  like  a  labourer,  promis- 
ing him  everything  under  heaven,  and  spending 
every  cent  he  possessed,  and  that  my  mother,  still 
at  Verberie,  owed  a  large  sum  at  the  hotel  and 
might  at  any  moment,  together  with  her  daugh- 
ter, be  turned  out  of  doors  without  resources. 

My  grandmother  at  these  revelations  wished  to 
leave  immediately  for  Verberie;  my  grandfather 
prevented  her.  He  sent  the  commercial  traveller 
to  the  proprietor  of  The  Three  Monarchs  to  assure 
him  that  he  would  be  paid  by  Madame  Lambert's 
parents,  but  that  he  must  say  nothing  of  it  to  her, 
and  must,  on  no  account,  acquaint  her  husband 
about  it. 

On  the  commercial  traveller's  return  my  grand- 
[51] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

mother  had  all  the  details  she  desired,  some  of 
which  were  lamentable,  others  consoling. 

My  mother  nursed  me  herself.  I  was  a  very 
healthy  baby,  but  Madame  Lambert,  suffering 
from  poverty  and  cold,  for  she  often  deprived 
herself  of  fire,  the  commercial  traveller  said,  was 
evidently  losing  her  health.  But  the  hotel  pro- 
prietor, reassured  about  his  debt,  would  arrange 
things  so  that  the  young  mother  should  suffer  no 
longer. 

My  grandfather  loved  his  daughter  Olympe 
more  than  did  my  grandmother,  because  she  re- 
sembled his  own  mother.  She  was  submissive  to 
her  husband  to  the  point  of  sacrificing  her  child  to 
her  wifely  duties,  and  therefore  he  suffered  about 
his  child  as  well  as  his  grandchild,  while  my  grand- 
mother suffered  especially  on  my  account. 

Again,  my  grandmother  wished  to  leave  to  come 
to  us,  but  her  husband  calmed  her  with  his  oft-re- 
peated words: 

"  You  will  only  upset  her,  and,  as  she  is  nurs- 
ing her  child,  she  will  give  her  fever  and  you  will 
kill  her.  Wait  at  least  for  nine  months,  and  then 
you  can  wean  Juliette,  and  we  will  decide  what  to 
do  according  to  circumstances." 

Hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  week  by  week,  the 
nine  months,  sadly  counted,  passed  at  last.  At 
[52] 


BORN  IN  AN  INN 


the  end  of  the  ninth  month  the  commercial  traveller 
received  a  letter  from  the  proprietor  of  The  Three 
Monarchs,  saying  that  my  father  had  gone  to 
Brussels  with  Doctor  Bernhardt,  who  went  there 
ostensibly  to  make  some  final  experiments,  in  real- 
ity to  escape  legal  prosecution  by  flight,  and  that 
my  mother  and  I  were  abandoned. 

As  soon  as  this  letter  was  communicated  to  my 
grandparents  there  was  no  longer  any  hesitation, 
and  my  grandmother  left  for  Verberie. 

My  mother,  clad  in  a  worn-out  gown,  was  shiv- 
ering over  a  small  fire  of  shavings,  thin,  pale,  her 
handsome  face  grown  more  sombre  than  ever.  She 
welcomed  her  mother  with  a  violent  scene,  but  my 
grandmother  had  come  with  prepared  resolutions 
which  nothing  could  move. 

"  You  have  not  the  right,  through  fidelity  to  I 
know  not  what  wifely  duty  and  which  your  husband, 
it  seems  to  me,  is  far  from  reciprocating,  to  live 
here  in  this  wretchedness,  and,  above  all,  to  impose 
it  on  your  child.  You  shall  leave  this  hotel  to- 
morrow and  return  to  your  parents,  and  your  hus- 
band, when  he  desires  to  do  so,  can  come  to  find 
you  as  well  at  their  home  as  here  in  this  inn." 

"  Where  you  have  tied  the  goat  she  must 
browse,"  she  replied. 

My  grandmother,  exasperated  at  these  words, 
[53] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

exclaimed :  "  Your  husband  doesn't  even  give  you 
grass  to  browse  on." 

My  mother  remained  obstinate  with  her  habit- 
ual sourness,  her  bad  temper,  and  her  motiveless 
recriminations  which  she  tried,  as  usual,  to  com- 
bine together,  in  order  to  prove  that  she  was  made 
unhappy  by  everyone. 

"  But,  if  you  are  turned  out  of  doors  with  your 
daughter,  where  will  you  go?  " 

"  Into  the  street,  and  Jean  Louis  will  have  the 
responsibility  of  having  put  me  there.  I  do  not 
wish  that  he  should  be  absolved  for  his  conduct 
by  any  one." 

It  was  therefore  in  order  to  prove  her  husband's 
wrong-doing  that  she  suffered  abandonment  and 
privations. 

My  grandmother  said  nothing  more;  but  she 
arranged  in  her  mind  a  plan  for  carrying  me  off. 

"  Whatever  you  decide,"  she  said,  after  the  scene 
was  over,  "  you  must  pay  your  debts,  if  you  have 
any  here.  Do  you  wish  me  to  give  you  some 
money  ?  " 

"  Willingly." 

"  Well,  about  how  much  do  you  think  you 
owe?  " 

My  mother  named  a  sum. 

"  I  am  going  to  unpack  my  bag,  have  my  din- 
[54] 


BORN  IN  AN  INN 


ner  served,  and  send  you  some  wood,  and  I  will 
return  with  the  money  you  need  to  pay  your  debt." 

My  grandmother  often  told  me  afterwards  that 
she  did  not  look  at  me,  nor  kiss  me,  so  as  not  to 
betray  her  emotion. 

She  went  to  find  the  proprietor  and  arranged 
my  carrying  off  with  him.  A  berline  would  be 
ready  in  a  moment  to  take  my  grandmother  and 
me  to  the  town  gates.  The  driver  of  the  dili- 
gence which  would  leave  an  hour  after  us  would 
reserve  the  coupe  seats  for  us,  and  would  pick  us 
up  at  a  point  agreed  upon  between  the  berline- 
driver  and  himself,  and  we  would  speed,  changing 
horses  once  or  twice,  to  Chauny.  The  hotel  pro- 
prietor was  to  detain  my  mother  discussing  the 
bill,  and  to  keep  her  for  an  hour  at  least,  and  he 
promised  not  to  furnish  her  with  a  carriage  to  pur- 
sue us.  Besides,  it  was  agreed  that  my  grand- 
mother was  to  give  to  him  the  money  necessary  for 
my  mother  to  join  us  in  a  few  days. 

My  grandmother  learned  from  him  the  amount 
of  the  bill,  and  it  was  arranged  that  she  should 
give  my  mother  a  little  less  than  the  amount,  so 
that  the  latter  should  not  feel  justified  in  taking 
any  of  the  money  in  order  to  follow  us. 

My  grandmother  returned  to  her  daughter's 
room,  now  well  warmed.  All  was  ready  in  her 
[55] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

own  room  for  departure — a  nursing-bottle  full  of 
warm  milk  and  a  large  shawl  in  which  to  wrap  me. 

Her  heart,  she  told  me  later  many  times,  beat 
faster  than  it  would  have  done  had  she  run  off 
with  my  grandfather  in  her  youth. 

The  hotel  proprietor  had  the  bill  taken  to 
Madame  Lambert,  and  sent  her  word  that  he  was 
ready  to  discuss  it  if  she  should  have  any  obser- 
vations to  make  concerning  it.  My  grandmother 
looked  at  the  bill  and  told  my  mother  that  she  had 
not  quite  enough  money  to  pay  it  all,  being 
obliged  to  keep  some  for  her  return  home,  and 
that,  on  glancing  at  it,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
proprietor  of  The  Three  Monarchs  had  added  to 
the  actual  expenses  too  much  interest  for  the  de- 
lay of  payment. 

My  mother  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  said 
the  sum  would  suffice,  as  she  should  discuss  the 
point  with  the  proprietor,  and  no  doubt  obtain  a 
reduction. 

"  Go,"  said  my  grandmother  in  an  indifferent 
tone.  "  I  will  take  care  of  the  child." 

Everything  succeeded  marvellously  well,  and  I 
was  carried  off  at  the  rather  young  age  of  nine 
months  old,  and  weaned  in  a  diligence. 


[56] 


MY     EABiLY     CHILDHOOD 

WAS  pleased,  it  seems,  with  the  voyage  and 
with  the  nursing-bottle.  Warmly  wrapped 
up,  I  slept  in  my  grandmother's  arms.  In  the 
morning  everything  I  saw  from  the  diligence  win- 
dows amused  me  greatly.  The  movement  delight- 
ed me  and  made  me  dance.  Every  time  I  asked, 
"Mamma?"  my  grandmother  answered:  "Yes, 
look,  see,  she  is  down  there."  At  the  relays  I 
walked  a  little,  for  I  already  walked  at  that  early 
age,  and  was  much  taken  with  and  curious  about 
the  dogs,  the  chickens,  and  people,  and  was  in- 
stinctively drawn  to  my  grandmother,  whom  I 
soon  grew  to  love  fondly. 

My  mother,  informed  by  a  letter  which  my 
grandmother  had  left  for  her,  of  my  being  car- 
ried off,  did  not  hasten  to  join  us,  but  grand- 
mother knew  by  frequent  letters  from  the  hotel- 
keeper  at  Verberie  that  she  was  taking  care  of 
herself  and  did  not  suffer,  and  that,  moreover,  she 
had  written  several  letters  to  her  husband  and  had 
received  no  answers. 

Finally  my  mother  decided  one  day  to  take  the 
[57] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

diligence  and  come  to  us,  after  having  borrowed 
a  sum  strictly  necessary  for  her  voyage. 

The  large  drawing-room  at  Chauny,  with  its 
high  chimney-place,  where  a  great  wood  fire  burned 
constantly,  seemed  more  pleasant  to  me  than  the 
gloomy  room  of  The  Three  Monarchs,  and  I  ex- 
pressed my  admiration  for  all  that  it  contained 
by  throwing  kisses  to  the  fire,  to  the  clock,  and 
above  all  to  my  grandparents.  I  had  room  in 
which  to  trot  and  amuse  myself,  and  I  took  an 
interest  in  everything  in  this  large  room  where  they 
received  visitors,  where  they  dined  and  lived.  I 
heard  a  great  many  things  which  I  repeated  and 
understood.  My  mother  did  not  cease  to  com- 
plain about  the  education  my  grandparents  were 
giving  me  and  on  the  airs  of  "  a  trained  dog," 
that  I  was  assuming,  but  she  did  not  succeed  in 
troubling  the  cordial  understanding  between  us 
four — my  grandparents,  my  nurse  Arthemise,  and 
myself. 

My  father,  very  unhappy,  repenting  of  his  fool- 
ish act,  ashamed  of  the  blind  faith  he  had  placed 
in  a  cynical  impostor,  had  returned  without  a 
cent  to  his  parents  at  Pontoise.  He  begged  by 
letter  for  my  mother,  humiliated  and  submissive, 
but  my  grandmother  replied  that  she  would  not 
give  him  back  his  wife  until  the  day  when  he 
[58] 


MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD 


should  have  made  another  position  for  himself  and 
could  prove  that  he  had  the  means  to  support  her. 
As  to  his  daughter  Juliette,  she  would  never  be 
given  back  to  him. 

"  I  adopt  this  child  which  you  have  abandoned 
and  given  over  to  dire  poverty,"  wrote  my  grand- 
mother, "  and  she  belongs  to  me  as  long  as  I  live." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  my  father  went  to  live  at 
the  pretty  borough  of  Blerancourt,  three  leagues 
from  Chauny  and  two  from  Pontoise-sur-Oise, 
where  his  people  dwelt.  A  year  after  he  came  and 
proved  to  my  grandmother  that  he  was  in  a  posi- 
tion to  support  his  wife  and  to  fulfil  the  conditions 
she  had  imposed  upon  him  before  he  should  be 
allowed  to  take  her  back. 

"  Return  and  browse,"  said  my  grandfather  to 
his  daughter,  laughing,  as  he  put  a  well-filled  purse 
in  her  hand. 

I  remained,  of  course,  with  my  grandparents. 
Neither  my  father  nor  mother  would  have  dared 
at  that  epoch  to  question  my  staying. 

It  was  some  years  after  this  that  the  long  series 
of  dramatic  scenes  began  of  which  I  was  the  cause, 
and  which  occasioned  my  being  carried  off  many 
times 

The  effort  made  by  a  matured  mind  to  recall  its 
early  impressions  is  most  curious.  We  evoke  them, 

[59] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

and  they  rise  before  us  in  the  form  of  a  little  per- 
son whom  we  succeed  in  detaching  from  our  pres- 
ent selves,  but  who,  however,  continues  to  remain 
a  part  of  what  we  have  become.  The  image,  the 
vision  of  ourselves  is  clear  and  perfectly  cut  in  our 
minds  when  we  say :  "  When  I  was  a  child."  We 
see  ourselves  as  we  were  at  a  certain  age,  but  as 
soon  as  we  particularise  an  event  or  question  a 
fact  we  cannot  escape  from  our  present  personal- 
ity, and  it  is  impossible  to  rid  these  facts  and  events 
from  connection  with  it,  or  from  their  later  conse- 
quences. 

We  should  like  to  write  of  our  childhood  with 
the  childish  words  we  then  used,  but  we  cannot,  and 
memory  only  suggests  some  striking  traits,  some 
simple  phrases,  which  make  clear  the  facts  regis- 
tered in  the  mind. 

How  many  things  more  interesting  than  those 
we  remember  do  we  doubtless  forget! 

One  day — it  was  not  on  a  Sunday — my  grand- 
mother dressed  me  in  a  pretty  white  gown  lined 
with  pink  and  embroidered  by  herself  with  little 
wheels,  which  I  had  often  watched  her  making. 
Later,  overcome  with  emotion,  I  dressed  my  own 
daughter  in  this  same  gown. 

"  It  is  your  birthday,  the  fourth  of  October,  and 
you  are  three  years  old,"  said  my  grandmother. 
[60] 


MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD 


Three  years !  these  words  re-echoed  in  my  head : 
there  was  something  about  them  solemn  and  gay 
at  once.  To  be  grown  up  is  a  child's  ambition. 
Children  create  in  their  minds  many  surprising 
illusions.  People  said  frequently  to  me,  which 
made  me  very  proud: 

"  She  is  very  tall  for  her  age.  She  looks  five 
years  old."  Those  two  figures,  three  and  five,  were 
the  first  I  remembered,  and  I  used  them  on  every 
occasion.  I  looked  at  and  compared  myself  with 
children  smaller  than  I,  and  considered  myself  very 
tall  indeed. 

On  this  4th  of  October  my  nurse  Arthemise 
called  me  "  miss  "  for  the  first  time.  I  can  hear 
her  even  now.  On  that  day,  the  first  that  stands 
out  distinct  in  my  memory,  everyone  who  saw  me 
kissed  me.  I  returned  my  grandparents'  caresses, 
hanging  on  their  necks,  but  I  remember  perfectly 
that  a  number  of  persons  made  me  angry  by  kiss- 
ing me  too  hard.  However,  I  allowed  myself  to 
be  embraced  rapturously  by  my  nurse  Arthemise, 
who  wished  to  "  eat  me  up,"  as  she  said,  and  also 
by  my  great  friend  Charles,*  who  called  me  his 
"  little  wife." 

I  told  him  with  a  dignified  air  that  now,  being 

*  This  friend  Charles  was  a  professor  in  the  boys'  boarding 
school  opposite  my  grandparents'  house. 

[61] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

three  years  old,  he  must  call  me  his  "  big  wife," 
which  he  did  at  once,  presenting  me  with  a  trum- 
pet, on  which  I  began  to  play  with  all  my  might. 

My  grandparents  were  expecting  my  mother 
and  father  to  dine.  They  always  arrived  late,  be- 
cause the  road  across  the  Manicamp  prairie  was 
so  bad  that  they  related  this  story  to  children 
about  it :  "  One  day  a  cowkeeper  lost  a  cow  in  one 
of  the  ruts,  and  he  tried  to  find  it  by  plunging 
the  handle  of  his  whip  in  the  mud,  but  he  could 
not  succeed." 

One  should  hear  this  story  in  Picard  patois, 
which  gives  a  singular  force  to  the  words,  espe- 
cially when  the  cowkeeper  turns  his  whip-handle 
in  the  mud  and  cannot  feel  the  cow,  so  deeply  is 
she  buried  in  it. 

I  ran  every  few  minutes  to  the  front  door  and 
leaned  out.  I  was  a  little  afraid,  for  the  entrance, 
with  its  four  steps,  seemed  very  high  to  me,  but  I 
thought  I  should  be  very  useful  to  the  kitchen- 
folk  if  I  could  be  the  first  to  cry  out :  "  Here  they 
are !  here  they  are !  " 

I  ran  about  a  great  deal,  I  even  fell  once,  to 
Arthemise's  great  alarm,  who  feared  I  should  spoil 
my  pretty  gown. 

At  last  my  parents  arrived  from  Blerancourt. 

They  told  a  long  story  which  I  have  forgotten. 

[62] 


MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD 


The  cabriolet  and  the  horse  were  covered  with  mud. 
Papa  and  mamma  repeated  that  the  road  was 
execrable.  The  word  struck  me  and  I  used  it  for 
a  long  while  on  all  occasions. 

My  mother  wore  a  dark  blue  silk  gown,  caught 
up  under  her  shawl.  I  can  see  her  now,  undoing 
her  skirt  and  shaking  it.  I  helped  her  by  tapping 
on  the  silk  and  I  said  admiringly :  "  Mamma  is 
beautiful ! " 

My  father  took  me  in  his  arms  and  covered  me 
with  kisses,  and  he  also  said  "  that  I  was  very,  very 
tall,  and  that  he  had  not  seen  me  for  a  long  time 
— not  for  three  months."  That  was  the  same 
number  as  my  age,  it  must  therefore  be  a  long 
time,  and  papa  looked  so  sad  that  he  made  me 
feel  like  crying.  His  own  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

They  sat  down  to  dinner.  My  grandfather  told 
stories  which  made  them  laugh,  but  I  thought  they 
would  not  laugh  long,  for  whenever  my  parents 
came  from  Blerancourt  they  always  ended  by 
quarrelling  together. 

My  father  said  suddenly: 

"  This  time  we  will  take  Juliette  home  with  us !  " 

I  did  not  dare  to  say  that  I  did  not  wish  to  go. 
I  was  much  more  afraid  of  my  parents  than  of  my 
grandparents. 

"  No,  I  shall  keep  her,"  replied  grandmother.  . 
[63] 


"  It  is  more  than  two  years  since  you  took  her 
from  us,"  continued  my  father.  "  If  we  still  had 
her  brother,  or  if  she  had  a  sister,  I  promise  you 
that  I  would  give  her  to  you,  but  think,  mother,  I 
have  only  this  little  one." 

"  It  is  not  our  affair,  but  yours,  to  give  her  a 
brother  or  sister,"  my  grandfather  replied,  laugh- 
ing. 

Certainly,  I  thought,  grandfather  was  right. 
Why  did  not  papa  and  mamma  buy  me  a  little 
sister  or  brother?  Then  they  would  not  need  to 
say  they  would  take  me  from  grandmother. 

"  You  must  give  Juliette  back  to  us,"  my  father 
repeated.  "  I  want  her." 

"  Never !  "  cried  grandfather  and  grandmother 
at  once.  "  She  belongs  to  us ;  you  abandoned 
her." 

Then  began  a  scene  which  is  easy  to  me  to 
recall,  because  it  was  renewed  three  or  four  times 
every  year  during  my  childhood.  They  dragged 
me  first  to  one  side,  then  to  the  other,  they  kissed 
me  with  faces  wet  with  tears,  they  grew  very  angry 
with  one  another,  and  they  almost  made  me  crazy 
by  asking  and  repeating :  "  Don't  you  want  to 
come  with  your  papa  and  mamma  ?  " — "  Don't 
you  want  to  stay  with  your  grandfather  and 
grandmother?  " 

[64] 


MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD 


I  would  answer  sobbing,  not  realising  my  cruelty 
to  my  father,  who  adored  me: 

"  I  want  Arthemise,  my  grandmother  and 
grandfather." 

My  father  was  very  unhappy.  My  mother, 
who  was  jealous  of  everything  and  everybody, 
suffered  less,  however,  from  my  grandmother's 
passion  for  me  than  for  my  father's;  but  she 
naturally  took  her  husband's  part  against  her 
parents. 

On  that  day,  as  on  many  subsequent  days,  my 
parents  from  Blerancourt  yielded  and  grew  calm. 
My  grandmother,  by  much  show  of  affection  and 
by  all  manner  of  promises,  succeeded  in  making 
them  leave  me  at  Chauny. 

My  father  said  a  hundred  times  to  me :  "  You 
love  your  papa,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  " 

And  it  was  true.  I  loved  my  papa,  but  not  as 
I  loved  grandmother. 

"  Juliette  must  begin  her  education,"  added 
grandmother,  "  and  she  can  do  so  only  at  Chauny. 
As  soon  as  the  vacations  are  over  she  must  go  to 
school." 

The  next  morning  they  woke  me  very  early.  I 
was  sleepy  and  rebelled.  What  grandfather  called 
"  the  family  drama "  had  fatigued  me.  Arthe- 
6  [65] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

raise  took  me  in  her  arms,  half  asleep,  for  me  to 
say  good-bye  to  my  parents.  My  mother  was  put- 
ting on  her  bonnet  as  I  entered  the  drawing-room, 
my  father  was  wrapping  her  shawls  about  her. 
They  got  into  the  carriage  and  I  waved  kisses  to 
them  for  good-bye. 

"  Above  all,  be  good  at  school,"  said  my  mother 
to  me  as  she  left. 

One  morning  Arthemise  carried  me  half  asleep 
into  the  drawing-room.  I  wanted  to  be  put  back 
to  bed.  My  grandmother  said  severely  to  me  that 
it  should  not  be  done,  that  Arthemise  was  to  dress 
me  and  that  I  was  to  go  to  school. 

I  was  before  the  fire  in  the  large  drawing-room 
with  its  four  windows,  which  seemed  to  my  child- 
ish ideas  immense  and  which  has  much  shrunken 
since,  nnd  I  was  passed  from  grandmother's  lap 
to  Arthemise's.  They  dressed  me,  after  having 
washed  me,  the  which  I  did  not  like,  although  it 
amounted  to  but  little,  only  my  face  and  my 
hands,  and  grandfather  did  not  even  wish  that 
they  should  "  clean  me  "  every  day — they  did  not 
say  "  wash  "  in  those  days — water,  he  declared, 
made  pimples  on  the  face. 

Ah !  how  that  surgeon  cultivated  microbes !  He 
could  not  have  suffered  much  from  the  want  of 
a  dressing-room  when  in  the  army.  One  cannot 

[66] 


MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD 


imagine  nowadays  how  little  they  washed  them- 
selves in  our  Picardy  in  the  year  of  grace  1839. 
They  soaped  their  faces  only  on  Sundays  in  the 
kitchen  and  their  hands  every  morning. 

My  grandfather,  who  the  barber,  Lafosse, 
shaved  every  morning  in  the  drawing-room  at 
dawn,  wiped  his  face  with  the  towel  under  his  chin 
when  it  was  untied,  and  that  was  all.  And  yet 
he  looked  clean,  his  white  cravat  and  his  pleated 
shirt-front  were  always  perfectly  immaculate,  spot- 
ted over  only  with  snuff,  which  he  would  knock 
off  with  graceful  little  gestures  with  his  finger  and 
thumb.  As  to  my  grandmother,  she  was  always 
handsomely  dressed  and  had  her  hair  arranged 
every  day  by  the  barber,  Lafosse. 

In  the  rooms  of  the  hotels  of  Picardy,  which 
had  been  occupied  by  travellers,  cobwebs  would  be 
found  at  the  bottom  of  the  water-jug  long  after 
the  epoch  of  which  I  speak. 


[67] 


VI 


FIRST     DAY    AT     SCHOOL 

INSTEAD    of   one    of   my    numerous    pretty 
gowns,  grandmother  dressed  me  in  a  green 
frock  which  I  did  not  like. 

To  my  surprise  my  grandfather,  after  the  bar- 
ber's departure,  did  not  leave  immediately  to  go  to 
his  hospital.  He  looked  at  me  and  kept  repeat- 
ing: 

"  Poor,  dear  little  woman !  " 

I  burst  into  tears  without  knowing  why. 

They  covered  my  white  apron  with  a  frightful 
black  one.  It  was  for  school.  I  knew  what  the 
school  was;  I  had  many  big  friends  who  went  to 
it,  I  ought  to  have  been  proud  to  be  considered  a 
big  girl,  but  I  was  in  despair.  I  repeated,  weep- 
ing :  "  Grandmother,  I  will  be  very  good.  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  school.  Keep  me  with  you." 

My  grandfather  said  he  thought  they  might 
very  well  wait  until  the  winter  was  over  before 
shutting  me  up  in  a  prison. 

I  screamed  all  the  louder  at  this  word,  Prison. 
Arthemise  declared,  crying  herself,  that  I  was  still 
too  young  to  go,  that  it  was  a  murder! 
[68] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


"  A  murder !  a  murder !  "  repeated  grandmother 
in  anger.  "  That  woman  must  be  mad,"  she  said 
to  grandfather,  who  in  his  turn  called  Arthemise 
"  insolent." 

Here  was  another  "  family  drama " ;  but  they 
did  not  "  make  up  "  with  each  other  after  being 
angry,  as  they  did  with  my  parents. 

"  I  shall  send  you  out  of  the  house ! "  said 
grandmother  to  Arthemise ;  "  you  shall  make  up 
your  packages  to-day,  and  to-morrow  you  shall 
return  to  Caumenchon.  Leave  the  room !  " 

"  You  might  scold  her,  but  not  send  her  off," 
said  grandfather.  "  That  woman  loves  Juliette 
sincerely.  And,  do  you  know  what  I  think?  She 
is  right.  It  is  a  murder.  Leave  the  little  thing 
to  play  for  a  year  or  two  more,  she  will  make  all 
the  greater  progress  for  it  later." 

"  I  wish  her  to  surpass  all  the  others  at  once," 
replied  grandmother ;  "  and  then  I'd  like  to  know 
what  you  are  meddling  yourself  with  it  for?  I 
know  what  I  am  doing.  Hold  your  tongue." 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta ! "  replied  my  grandfather,  whose 
resistance  always  ended  with  those  three  syllables. 

My  grandmother  took  me  to  the  school.  I  real- 
ised that  it  was  an  extraordinary  event  to  which 
I  was  obliged  to  submit. 

My  friend  the  grocer  was  at  his  door.  He 
[69] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

bowed  to  grandmother,  much  surprised  to  see  her 
in  the  street  "  on  a  working-day,"  and  told  her 
so.  She  answered  that  she  was  taking  me  to 
school  for  the  first  time. 

"  You  want  to  make  her  a  learned  lady,"  he 
replied. 

The  butcher's  wife  was  at  her  desk  in  her  open 
shop.  She,  also,  ran  to  the  door  astonished,  and 
asked  grandmother  where  I  was  going  with  my 
black  apron — was  it  a  punishment?  "  Because 
for  you,  Madame  Seron,  to  be  out  with  your  Juli- 
ette in  the  street,  she  must  have  been  very  bad,  in- 
deed," she  added,  laughing  heartily. 

I  wanted  more  and  more  to  cry  again. 

The  large  door  of  the  school,  of  the  prison, 
opened  and  shut  behind  us  with  a  noise  like  thun- 
der. 

We  went  into  a  court  where  the  large  and  small 
pupils  were  together.  Madame  Dufey,  the  school- 
mistress, appeared.  She  had  mustaches,  I  thought 
her  ugly,  and  she  terrified  me. 

"  I  had  the  mother,  I  have  the  daughter  now. 
I  am  delighted,"  she  said.  But  her  voice  seemed 
to  roar. 

My  grandmother  made  a  motion  to  leave  me. 
I  clung  to  her  skirts.     I  implored.     I  rolled  on  the 
floor.     I  was  choking,  and  I  repeated,  sobbing: 
[70] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


"  You  don't  love  your  grandchild  any  more !  " 

My  grandmother  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
remained  insensible  to  my  sorrow.  She  pushed  me 
away  from  her.  She,  who  had  spoiled  me  so 
greatly  until  then,  thought  the  moment  had  come 
in  which  to  be  severe  to  excess. 

"  Be  obedient,"  she  said  to  me,  "  or  you  shall 
remain  here  and  not  return  home  any  more." 

I  revolted  and  answered :  "  I  will  go  to  my 
parents  at  Blerancourt." 

Madame  Dufey  intervened. 

"  I  will  take  her  to  breakfast  with  me  and  an- 
other new  little  pupil,"  said  the  school-mistress; 
"  don't  send  for  her  until  this  evening." 

She  carried  me  off  in  her  arms,  and  my  grand- 
mother went  away. 

Nothing  had  ever  seemed  to  me  so  frightful  as 
this  abandonment.  I  felt  a  poor,  miserable,  for- 
saken little  thing.  I  leaned  against  the  wall  of 
a  corridor  under  a  bell  which  was  ringing,  and 
from  which  ear-rending  noise  I  had  not  the 
strength  to  flee,  although  it  fairly  hurt  my  head. 
I  was  pushed  by  my  new  companions  into  a  dark, 
gloomy  class-room  where  they  obliged  me  to  sit 
alone  on  the  end  of  a  bench. 

I  had  a  fit  of  despair ;  I  cried  as  loud  as  I  could. 
I  called  for  Arthemise  and  my  grandfather. 
[71] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

An  under-mistress  approached  me  and  ordered 
me  to  be  quiet,  and  shook  me  severely.  I  did  not 
stop  crying.  I  defended  myself,  and  struck  her 
because  she  had  used  me  so  roughly. 

They  carried  me  upstairs  to  a  garret  and  left 
me  there,  I  know  not  for  how  many  hours.  Even 
yet,  to-day,  at  my  age,  I  recall  the  impression  of 
that  day  and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  lasted  for  an 
infinite  time.  It  holds  as  much  place  in  my  mem- 
ory as  a  whole  year  of  other  days  which  fol- 
lowed it. 

The  under-mistress  came  at  breakfast  time.  I 
had  not  ceased  crying.  If  I  had  known  what  it 
was  to  die  I  should  have  killed  myself. 

"  Will  you  hush  ?  "  said  the  under-mistress  to  me, 
striking  me  roughly.  "  Will  you  be  good?  " 

This  wicked  woman  seemed  execrable  to  me,  like 
the  bad  road  of  which  my  father  had  spoken.  I 
told  her  so  and  the  word  avenged  me.  She  was 
my  first  enemy.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had 
been  beaten.  I  repeated,  "  Execrable,  execrable !  " 
She  placed  a  piece  of  dry  bread  by  my  side  and  left 
me,  saying: 

"  You  shall  obey." 

Madame  Duf ey  had  forgotten  me,  as  my  grand- 
mother learned  later.  I  have  certainly  never  in 
all  my  life  been  so  angry  as  I  was  at  that  closed 
[72] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


door.  I  have  never  found  people  so  implacable 
as  they  were  to  me  that  day. 

From  crying,  screaming,  and  knocking  against 
the  door  I  fell  down  on  the  floor  exhausted  and 
went  to  sleep. 

I  awoke  in  Arthemise's  arms,  who  was  weeping 
and  frightened  to  see  my  swollen,  tear-stained  face. 
She  had  rocked  me  to  sleep  every  night  since  I  was 
three  years  old,  telling  me  pretty  stories  of  Cau- 
menchon,  and  she  kept  saying  now: 

"  They  don't  love  you  any  more,  they  don't  love 
you  any  more !  " 

Now,  as  I  clung  to  Arthemise's  neck,  I  grew 
brave  again  and  felt  a  great  desire  to  return  the 
harm  they  had  done  to  me.  I  said  to  my  nurse: 

"  Arthemise,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  My  little  one,  do  I  love  you ! "  she  exclaimed, 
hugging  me. 

"  Then  Juliette  wants  to  go  to  Caumenchon 
and  you  must  obey  her." 

She  resisted.  "  They  will  say  that  I  have  stolen 
you  and  will  put  me  in  prison.  I  cannot,  I  can- 
not. But  won't  I  give  a  bit  of  my  mind  to  your 
grandmother!  Don't  you  fear!  for,  if  she  has 
not  killed  you,  it  is  not  her  fault." 

"  Juliette  will  go  to  Caumenchon,  then,  all 
alone,  at  once,"  I  replied,  and,  as  we  left  the 

[73] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

school,  I  slipped  down  from  her  arms,  escaping 
her,  and  climbed  the  steps  of  the  ramparts. 
When  I  got  to  the  top  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could. 
Arthemise  caught  me,  took  me  in  her  arms,  and 
besought  me  to  return  to  my  grandmother,  but  as 
I  got  angry  again,  she  walked  off  very  fast  in  the 
direction  of  the  village,  carrying  me. 

When  she  grew  too  tired  she  put  me  down,  and 
I  ran,  holding  her  hand,  to  keep  up  with  her  fast 
walking.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  doing  some- 
thing great,  that  I  was  in  the  right  and  my  grand- 
mother in  the  wrong.  Running,  or  in  Arthemise's 
arms,  I  did  not  cease  repeating  the  two  words 
which  seemed  to  me  the  most  expressive :  "  It  is 
execrable,  it  is  a  murder !  " 

"  Yes,  a  murder,"  said  Arthemise,  "  and  they 
will  see  what  they'll  see !  " 

We  walked  in  the  mud ;  it  was  a  very  dark  night, 
and  I  thought,  if  I  had  not  been  with  Arthemise, 
how  afraid  I  should  have  been  of  the  deep  ruts  in 
which  they  lost  cows. 

I  was  very,  very  hungry,  and  I  thought  myself 
a  very  unhappy,  cruelly  abandoned,  but  very  cour- 
ageous little  girl. 

We  arrived  at  Caumenchon,  at  my  nurse's  house. 
The  door  was  open.  A  large  fire  burned  in  the 
hearth.  Arthemise's  mother  and  father  looked 
[74] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


older  than  my  grandmother  and  grandfather,  but 
I  did  not  dare  to  say  so. 

They  were  eating  their  soup  and  they  rose, 
frightened  at  seeing  me. 

"  Why  have  you  brought  the  young  lady 
here?  "  they  exclaimed. 

"  They  were  making  her  unhappy." 

"Who?"  said  the  father. 

"  The  masters." 

"  You  are  crazy.  It  is  not  your  business,  it's 
not  your  business,"  repeated  her  mother. 

"  I  am  hungry ;  will  you  give  me  a  little  soup  ?  " 
I  asked,  taking  on  the  tone  of  a  poor  little  beggar 
girl. 

The  good  people  both  served  me. 

"  Eat,  mam'zelle,  all  that  you  want,"  said  the 
mother  to  me. 

This  Caumenchon  soup  seemed  delicious. 

When  I  was  warmed  and  had  my  fill  of  apples 
and  nuts  after  the  soup,  Arthemise  took  me  to  a 
room  with  a  very  low  ceiling  and  put  me  to  bed, 
only  half  undressing  me.  She  left  a  lighted  tal- 
low candle  on  a  board,  saying  she  would  soon 
return  to  sleep  with  me. 

The  sheets  were  very  coarse  and  of  a  grey  col- 
our. There  were  spider-webs  and  spiders  that  ran 
along  the  rafters;  but  I  was  not  afraid  of  them 
[75] 


MY   CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

like  a  little  friend  with  whom  I  played  and  who 
screamed  when  she  saw  one,  even  in  the  garden,  on 
the  trees. 

In  the  room  there  were  bars  of  wood  through 
which  the  small  heads  of  rabbits  popped  out  and  in. 

My  head  burned  a  great  deal;  I  heard  a  loud 
noise  in  my  ears.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  little 
rabbits  looked  at  me  to  ask  me  my  history.  I  knelt 
down  on  my  bed  and  said  to  them : 

"  My  good  rabbits,  I  have  a  grandmother  who 
doesn't  love  me." 

I  do  not  know  what  the  rabbits  were  going  to 
answer  me.  I  often  wondered  later,  for  at  that 
moment  I  was  caught  up  in  my  grandfather's 
arms,  who  devoured  me  with  kisses  and  carried 
me  to  the  fire  on  which  they  had  just  thrown  an 
enormous  bunch  of  fagots. 

Aided  by  Arthemise,  he  tried  to  dress  me,  but  he 
trembled. 

"  Bad  little  girl,  your  grandmother  is  nearly 
wild  with  grief." 

"  I  don't  love  her  any  more,"  I  cried.  "  I  want 
to  stay  at  Caumenchon,  in  the  room  with  my 
friends  the  rabbits,  and  not  leave  my  Arthemise." 

The  old  peasants  both  said  to  me  with  rather  a 
severe  air: 

"  Come,  come,  mam'zelle,  be  more  reasonable." 

[76] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


My  grandfather  answered  them: 

*  Speak  more  gently  to  her.  When  I  think 
that  her  brother,  whom  she  resembles,  poor  little 
thing,  died  of  convulsions  after  having  been 
scolded  by  his  mother — I  do  not  wish  that  she 
should  be  spoken  to  harshly." 

"  That  is  what  I  told  you  just  now,  sir,"  added 
Arthemise,  who  was  very  red  and  seemed  very 
angry,  "  and  I  have  not  told  you  half  the  fear  I 
felt  when  I  found  her  in  that  garret.  I  didn't 
think  I  was  speaking  so  truthfully  this  morning 
in  calling  the  dragging  of  this  poor  little  one  to 
the  school  a  murder." 

"  My  Juliette,"  began  my  grandfather  again, 
"  I  beg  of  you,  let  us  return  to  Chauny.  Arthe- 
mise's  papa  and  mamma  want  her  to  come  back  to 
our  house  and  she  will  not  disobey  them.  Ask  her 
if  she  will." 

"  I  want  to  return,"  said  Arthemise,  "  if  Ma- 
dame regrets  having  turned  me  out  like  a  thief." 

"  She  regrets  it,  Arthemise." 

"  I  will  go  to  Chauny,  yes,  but  never  again  to 
the  school,"  I  said  to  grandfather. 

"  No,  no,  don't  worry  about  it." 

We  left  in  my  grandfather's  cabriolet.  I  was 
seated,  well  wrapped  up,  on  my  nurse's  knees.  I 
saw  the  full  moon  for  the  first  time.  I  still  recall 
[77] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

my  astonishment  and  the  confused  ideas  I  had 
about  the  great  night-sun,  so  pale  and  so  cold. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  house  my  grandmother 
was  at  the  door,  greatly  upset.  She  had  cried  so 
much  that  I  saw  how  great  her  sorrow  was.  She 
asked  my  pardon  for  all  the  horrible  things  en- 
dured by  her  poor  little  girl.  She  knew  them  all, 
having  obtained  the  information  while  my  grand- 
father went  to  Caumenchon,  where  he  had  felt  sure 
of  finding  me. 

"  My  darling,  they  put  you  in  a  garret !  It 
was  frightful,"  said  grandmother  to  me.  "  You 
did  right  to  punish  me;  I  will  never  torment  you 
again  as  long  as  I  live,  my  little  one." 

I  felt  a  certain  superiority  which  inclined  me  to 
indulgence.  I  approved  my  own  conduct.  Per- 
haps that  moment  decided  the  way  in  which  my 
character  was  formed. 

"  Juliette  will  always  act  like  that  when  grand- 
mother is  bad,"  I  said,  "  and  then  she  does  not  wish 
that  Arthemise  should  ever  be  sent  away  like  a 
thief." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  "  repeated  grandmother,  cover- 
ing me  with  kisses.  "  Arthemise,"  she  continued, 
"  you  must  tell  me  all  that  she  said,  all  that  she 
did.  It  was  she,  wasn't  it,  who  wanted  to  go  to 
Caumenchon  and  who  made  you  take  her  there?  " 
[78] 


FIRST    DAY    AT    SCHOOL 


"  Yes,  madame." 

"  She  is  like  me,  the  little  love.  Arthemise, 
promise  me  that  you  will  make  her  some  day  like 
her  school.  We  must  furnish  her  head  with  study, 
it  deserves  it." 

"  No,  not  furnish  my  head,  not  the  school ! "  I 
cried. 

"  Really,  Pelagic,  you  are  mad ;  you  keep  on 
exciting  the  child,  who  has  a  fever.  Have  you 
never  once  thought  of  her  brother's  death?  "  said 
grandfather,  snatching  me  out  of  grandmother's 
lap.  "  Wait  until  she  is  as  strong  as  I  am,  to  be 
able  to  support  your  exaggerations." 

Grandmother  turned  quite  white  and  became 
very  gentle. 

"  Arthemise,  put  her  to  bed,"  she  ordered  in  a 
calm  voice.  "  You  must  tell  me  when  she  has 
gone  to  sleep." 

During  the  following  days  it  was  impossible  to 
prevent  my  relating  in  detail  my  horrible  experi- 
ence. I  talked  of  it,  I  cried  over  it,  and  they  could 
not  make  me  stop.  Arthemise,  my  grandparents, 
my  friend  Charles,  were  all  obliged  to  listen  to  the 
recital,  and  I  did  not  become  calm  until  I  had  the 
sure  conviction  that  I  had  made  those  who  loved 
me  suffer,  the  suffering  that  I  myself  had  en- 
dured. I  promised  my  grandmother,  however, 
[79] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

that  I  would  not  relate  my  history  to  my  parents 
at  Blerancourt.  Arthemise  and  grandmother  to- 
gether arranged  about  my  going  to  school. 

I  returned  there  later,  influenced  to  do  so  by  a 
little  friend  of  my  own  age,  whom  they  had  made 
me  know,  and  who  taught  me  how  to  amuse  myself 
with  pictures  of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 


[80] 


VII 

I    GO     TO     A     WEDDING 

_.  _,  FEW  months  later,  in  the  summer,  I  went  to 
Blerancourt  with  my  grandfather  to  a  wed- 
ding. I  had  already  seen  a  great  number,  Arthe- 
mise  having  a  passion  for  looking  at  brides,  but  I 
had  never  participated  in  person  at  the  ceremony. 

A  friend  of  my  mother,  Camille — I  cannot  recall 
her  family  name — was  going  to  marry  Monsieur 
Ambroise  Godin,  under-director  of  the  manufact- 
ure of  glass  of  Saint  Gobain,  the  head  office  of 
which  was  at  Chauny.  My  grandfather  was  to 
be  her  witness,  and  grandmother  took  the  trouble 
to  explain  to  me  that  the  witness  to  a  marriage 
acted  in  place  of  the  bride's  father,  Camille  having 
lost  her  own. 

My  joy  at  going  to  the  wedding  expressed  itself 
in  all  manner  of  freaks  and  excessive  selfishness. 
I  neither  showed  nor  felt  the  least  sorrow  at  leav- 
ing grandmother  and  Arthemise.  However,  my 
absence  was  to  be  only  for  four  days. 

My  grandfather,  since  my  "  campaign  of  Cau- 
menchon,"  as  he  called  it,  had  conceived  such  a 
passion  for  me  that  he  stayed  for  long  hours  to- 
7  [81] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

gether  in  the  house,  even  after  meals.  In  the 
evening,  when  I  so  wished  it,  I  would  also  keep 
him  at  home.  His  friends  at  the  club  could  not 
believe  their  eyes. 

"  He  is  his  granddaughter's  slave,"  would  they 
say,  and  he  would  repeat :  "  Yes,  I  am  my  grand- 
daughter's slave." 

He  was  so  tall,  so  big,  so  noisy,  he  talked  so 
much  that  I  would  stare  at  him  from  his  feet  up- 
ward, my  head  raised,  always  laughing,  and  I 
would  only  play  "  at  making  faces "  with  him, 
while  I  often  played  with  grandmother  "  at  being 
good." 

He  could  not  contain  himself  with  joy  at  going 
away  quite  alone  with  me. 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  carry  her  off,"  said  he  on  the 
day  of  our  departure. 

They  tied  me  with  two  silk  handkerchiefs  in 
grandfather's  cabriolet,  and  they  stuffed  behind 
my  back,  at  my  sides,  and  under  my  feet  a  num- 
ber of  packages  well  sewn  together  by  Arthemise, 
in  which,  folded  and  packed  carefully,  were  my 
linen,  my  gowns,  and  everything  that  I  might  need. 
They  did  not  make  use  of  valises  or  trunks  at  that 
time  at  grandmother's. 

I  can  still  remember  my  three  white  frocks  with 
their  coloured  ribbon  sashes,  which  had  to  be  ironed 
[82] 


I    GO    TO    A    WEDDING 


when  we  arrived  and  which  my  mother  showed  to 
her  friends  at  Blerancourt,  who  came  to  see  me  and 
to  make  my  acquaintance.  I  had  held  my  hand- 
some Leghorn  straw  hat,  ornamented  with  white 
ribbons,  in  a  box  in  my  hands  and  had  never  let 
it  go  once  in  spite  of  the  jolts  of  the  famous 
"  execrable  "  road. 

Having  left  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
drive  three  leagues,  we  did  not  arrive  until  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  One  cannot  fancy  what 
the  road  was,  going  through  meadows  and  along- 
side of  a  river  which  continually  overflowed. 

How  many  times  since  have  I  passed  over  that 
road,  where  one  ran  the  risk  of  actual  danger,  and 
where  the  ruts  were  so  deep  that  people  were  fre- 
quently upset. 

My  grandfather  kept  up  my  courage,  for  I  did 
not  hide  my  fears,  by  saying  that  Cocotte  was  a 
very  good  horse,  the  carriage  strong,  and  that  he 
knew  how  to  drive  very  well. 

My  father  kissed  me  many  times  when  I  arrived, 
and  directly  after  breakfast  took  me  by  the  hand 
to  see  all  his  friends.  We  went  to  the  chateau 
where  the  Varniers  lived  and  where  I  found  a  dear 
little  girl  of  my  own  age,  with  whom  I  often  later 
played  at  the  house  of  her  neighbour,  the  chemist 
Descaines,  "  nephew  of  some  one  whom  I  shall  teach 
[83] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

you  to  know  and  to  love  later,"  said  my  father, 
"  but  remember  his  name  now — Saint-Just." 

"  Saint-Just,"  I  repeated. 

I  can  perfectly  recall  the  effort  I  made  to  please 
my  father's  friends  at  Blerancourt,  and  how,  after 
having  gone  in  quest  of  compliments  about  me,  he 
brought  back  a  great  number  to  my  grandfather 
and  mother. 

"  How  charming  she  is,  how  good  she  was,  and 
how  she  talks !  "  he  said. 

My  mother  had  unsewed  Arthemise's  packages 
and  she  ironed  my  frocks  herself.  I  took  part  in 
the  ironing  and  the  hanging  up,  and  I  asked  innu- 
merable questions  about  the  wedding. 

On  the  morrow,  the  great  day,  all  the  guests 
gathered  at  the  bride's  house  near  the  church. 
The  weather  was  superb.  They  went  on  foot,  two 
by  two,  in  a  long  file,  the  bride  leading  with  my 
grandfather,  of  whom  they  said :  "  What  a  hand- 
some man  he  is  who  is  acting  as  father." 

I  leaned  out  from  the  rank  and  dragged  my 
mother's  hand  so  as  to  see  better,  and,  perhaps, 
to  be  better  seen,  for  there  was  a  row  of  people 
along  the  length  of  the  cortege. 

The  gentleman  who  gave  his  arm  to  my  mother 
was  very  handsome  and  he  laughed  to  see  her  con- 
tinually dragged  out  of  file  by  me. 
[84] 


I    GO    TO    A    WEDDING 


All  Blerancourt  was  there  to  see  the  fine  wed- 
ding pass  by,  and  several  times  I  heard,  not  with- 
out pleasure,  little  boys  and  girls  and  even  grown 
persons  say : 

"  Look,  look,  it's  Monsieur  Lambert's  little  Juli- 
ette. How  prettily  she  is  dressed." 

Some  one  added: 

"  Monsieur  Lambert  is  not  here.  He  never  goes 
to  churches." 

I  asked  mamma  why  they  said  that.  She 
drew  me  brusquely  towards  her  and  did  not 
answer. 

We  reached  the  church.  I  heard  the  music  of 
the  organ  and  was  going  to  enter,  when  my  mother, 
after  having  spoken  in  a  low  voice  to  an  old  lady 
with  a  cap  and  dressed  in  black,  who  was  not  of 
the  wedding  party,  said  to  her: 

"  Two  ceremonies  will  tire  her  too  much,  please 
keep  her  for  me  and  amuse  her  in  the  cure's  garden. 
Give  her  some  flowers,  don't  let  her  soil  her  frock, 
and  I  will  come  for  her  myself." 

I  protested,  I  struggled,  I  wanted  to  be  all  the 
time  at  the  wedding,  but  the  old  lady  took  me  in 
her  arms,  passed  through  the  crowd,  opened  a  door, 
shut  it,  and  put  me  down,  laughing. 

"  You  will  amuse  yourself  a  great  deal  more 
here  than  at  the  church,  my  darling,"  she  said  to 
[85] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

me ;  "  see  the  lovely  garden  and  the  beautiful  flow- 
ers, they  are  all  for  you." 

She  put  a  cushion  on  the  doorstep,  and  gave  me 
some  nasturtium  flowers  to  suck.  There  was  near 
the  stalk  a  little  bud  that  I  found  of  a  sweet  taste. 
I  see  myself  still  on  the  doorstep  of  Monsieur  the 
Cure's  garden,  pointing  out  to  his  servant  the 
flowers  I  wanted,  which  she  went  and  pulled  for 
me. 

I  think  I  forgot  the  wedding  a  little  describing 
to  her  my  large  garden  at  my  grandmother's, 
speaking  of  my  plums  and  apricot  tree,  of  my 
strawberries  and  raspberries,  when  suddenly  my 
mother  appeared,  very  pale  and  excited. 

"  Quick,  quick,  come !  "  she  said  to  me. 

"  To  the  wedding,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  the  wedding." 

I  entered  the  church.  The  bride  was  near  the 
door  with  the  groom,  all  the  wedding  party  gath- 
ered around  them.  They  drew  me  to  a  corner 
where  there  was  a  large  stone  vase  full  of  water, 
like  one  in  our  garden  at  Chauny.  I  saw  that 
everybody  was  looking  at  me. 

The  cure  was  near  the  vase,  the  bride  and  groom 
approached,  my  mother  took  me  in  her  arms. 

"  Mamma,  what  are  they  going  to  do  to  me?  " 
I  asked,  rather  frightened. 
[86] 


I    GO    TO    A    WEDDING 


"  Be  good,  my  Juliette,  be  very  good,  I  beseech 
of  you,"  she  replied  in  a  very  troubled  voice,  "  they 
are  going  to  baptise  you." 

"  No,  no,  not  baptise  me,"  I  cried  in  tears. 

The  bride  said  smiling  to  me :  "  You  are  going 
to  cease  being  a  vile  heretic  and  enter  the  Catholic 
Church." 

I  saw  my  grandfather  and  I  cried  out  to  him, 
thinking  the  vase  full  of  water  was  the  Catholic 
Church. 

"  Grandfather,  come  and  prevent  them  from 
throwing  me  into  the  Catholic  Church." 

My  grandfather  not  only  remained  insensible  to 
my  appeal,  but  looked  at  me  very  severely. 

"  Be  still,"  said  the  cure  to  me,  "  or  I  will  open 
your  head  and  put  the  oil  and  salt  in  it." 

These  threatening  words  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  my  despair,  and  I  cried  and  struggled  all 
through  the  ceremony  of  my  baptism.  Finally 
grandfather  came  and  took  me  from  my  mother's 
arms. 

"  Juliette,  you  are  a  big  girl,"  he  said,  "  listen 
to  me.  I  am  very  pleased  you  are  baptised,  your 
grandmother  will  be  so  happy.  You  were  a  poor 
little  unbaptised  child,  we  did  not  know  it.  Your 
father  forbade  you  being  baptised.  He  doesn't 
like  churches." 

[87] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Yes,  grandfather,  I  heard  people  say  so  just 
now." 

"  So,  you  understand,  he  is  not  like  everybody 
else;  it  is  a  pity  he  is  a  heathen.  Your  mother 
had  great  courage  in  making  you  a  Christian  with- 
out his  knowledge.  He  will  be  furious,  and  I 
shall  not  be  sorry  to  be  at  Chauny.  Oh!  my 
darling,  my  darling,  may  the  Supreme  Being  pro- 
tect you ! " 

My  grandmother  made  me  say  my  prayers  night 
and  morning.  She  often  spoke  to  me  of  God, 
but  my  grandfather  never  spoke  except  of  the 
Supreme  Being ;  I  had  known  for  a  long  time  that 
the  Supreme  Being  was  God. 

There  was  a  table  for  children  at  the  wedding. 
It  was  very  amusing.  At  the  end  of  the  repast 
some  persons  rose  from  their  seats  and  they  talked 
and  talked  without  any  one  stopping  or  answering 
them;  then  there  were  some  others  who  sang,  and 
then  my  grandfather  said  things  which  made 
everybody  laugh,  and  we  little  ones  laughed  also. 

And  then  finally  papa  read  out  something  in  a 
loud  voice.  One  of  the  children  said  it  was  like 
a  fable,  and  they  repeated  several  times  at  the 
large  table  that  "  it  was  fine,  very  fine !  " 

Papa  looked  pleased.  They  danced  to  the  music 
of  a  large  orchestra,  and  I  danced  also,  turning 
[88] 


I    GO    TO    A    WEDDING 


around  as  much  as  I  could.  A  child  older  than  I 
called  me  Camille  Ambrosine.  My  father  was  near 
me  at  the  moment,  amused  at  seeing  me  enjoy 
myself  so  much. 

"  Why  do  you  call  her  Camille  Ambrosine?  " 
asked  my  father.  "  Her  name  is  Juliette." 

"  I  know  it,  Monsieur  Lambert.  Her  name  is 
Juliette  Camille  Ambrosine.  Juliette  is  her  every- 
day name,  Camille  is  her  godmother's,  Ambrosine 
her  godfather's.  I  say  so,  because  they  baptised 
her  after  the  wedding.  I  was  there.  It  is  droll, 
because  she  is  very  old  to  be  baptised." 

My  father  shook  me  so  violently  that  I  screamed 
with  fright.  My  grandfather  and  grandmother 
ran  up  to  us  and  there  was  another  "  family 
drama." 

My  father  cried  out  insulting  things  to  the  bride 
and  groom.  But  they  did  not  get  angry.  They 
only  laughed.  My  father  ended  by  taking  my 
mother  by  one  hand  and  me  by  the  other,  and 
leading  us  back  to  the  house,  grandfather  coming 
behind  us. 

My  mother  wept,  grandfather  did  not  say  a 
word,  my  father  kept  repeating : 

"  You  wish  that  my  daughter  should  not  be  my 
daughter." 

A  poor  woman  entered. 

[89] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Quick,  come  quickly,  Monsieur  Lambert,"  she 
cried,  "  my  husband  Mathieu,  the  thatcher,  you 
know  him,  has  fallen  off  Monsieur  Dutailly's  roof 
and  is  almost  dead." 

My  father  and  grandfather  left  suddenly  to- 
gether. 

My  mother  undressed  me,  made  up  the  packages 
and  sewed  them  together,  and  put  me  to  bed  very 
early. 

The  next  morning,  while  my  father  was  still 
sleeping,  because  he  had  watched  by  Mathieu,  the 
thatcher,  all  night,  mamma  tied  me  with  my  silk 
handkerchiefs  in  the  cabriolet,  together  with  my 
packages,  the  box  with  my  handsome  white  hat, 
and  without  my  going  to  the  wedding  festivities 
the  next  or  the  third  day,  without  my  being  able 
to  wear  my  two  other  pretty  frocks,  grandfather 
took  me  back  to  Chauny. 

As  I  left,  my  mother  told  me  to  be  sure  to  tell 
grandmother  that  in  spite  of  my  father's  anger 
she  would  never  regret  what  she  had  done  for  me, 
and  that  she  ought  long  ago  to  have  confessed  that 
I  had  never  been  baptised. 

Grandmother  was  astonished  to  see  us  returning 
so  soon. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  what  is  the  matter?  "  she 
cried. 

[90] 


I    GO    TO    A    WEDDING 


Grandfather  related  all  the  story  to  her,  and  I 
can  hear  now  her  exclamations : 

"  She  had  never  been  baptised,  never  baptised! 
My  son-in-law  is  a  dangerous  madman  with  his 
democratic,  socialistic  ideas,  without  God,  good 
heavens !  Such  ideas  mean  the  end  of  religion,  of 
the  family  circle,  of  the  right  of  property,  of  the 
world!" 

I  still  have  this  long  phrase  with  all  its  terms 
ringing  in  my  ears,  from  "  My  son-in-law  is  a  dan- 
gerous madman,"  because  it  never  ceased  for  years 
to  keep  alive  my  grandmother's  political  griefs 
against  my  father. 


[91] 


VIII 

"  FAMILY      DRAMAS  " 

|HE  terms  Jacobite,  Republican,  Socialist,  the 
names  of  Robespierre,  of  Saint  Just,  of  Louis 
Blanc,  of  Pierre  Leroux,  of  Proudhon,  and  of 
Ledru  Rollin,  pronounced  over  and  over  again  with 
terror  by  my  grandparents  and  with  a  manner  of 
adoration  by  my  father,  engraved  themselves  upon 
my  memory  and  still  more  in  my  thoughts.  The 
"  My  son-in-law  is  a  madman  "  began  the  anthem 
and  the  "  without  God,  good  heavens ! "  ended  it ; 
the  middle  part  was  varied  according  to  circum- 
stances, but  the  same  terms,  the  same  words  were 
interwoven  together. 

My  father,  who  was  extremely  eloquent,  very 
well  read,  and  full  of  knowledge,  delighted  and 
charmed  my  grandmother,  provided  he  spoke  nei- 
ther of  politics  nor  of  religion.  Being  very  fond 
of  Greek,  no  one  could  relate  the  Hellenic  legends 
better  than  himself.  While  still  quite  a  small 
child,  whenever  I  saw  him  I  would  make  him  re- 
peat to  me  the  stories  of  old  Homer,  and  I  got 
to  know  them  as  well  as  little  Red  Riding  Hood 
and  Cinderella. 

[92] 


"FAMILY   DRAMAS" 


My  father  was  a  poet,  and  his  verses  were  al- 
ways classical,  at  least  those  were  which  he  read 
to  my  grandmother,  but  we  knew,  and  I,  like  a 
parrot,  would  repeat  indignantly  that  he  also 
wrote  red  verses! 

How  was  it  that  my  relatives  were  mad  enough 
to  talk  politics  every  time  they  met?  My  grand- 
mother was  a  governmental  Orleanist,  my  grand- 
father a  most  passionate  Imperialist,  and  it  was 
amusing  to  hear  him  say  with  his  lisping  accent: 
"  The  emperor ! "  My  father  declared  himself  a 
Jacobite. 

No  one  can  imagine  the  scenes  which  took  place 
between  them.  I  can  well  remember  my  fright  at 
the  first  I  witnessed;  I  screamed  and  sobbed,  but 
none  of  them  heard  me.  One  day  (I  was  about 
four  or  five  years  old )  I  climbed  upon  the  table  and 
put  one  foot  in  a  dish  and  with  the  other  I  rattled 
the  glasses  and  plates.  The  discussion,  or  rather 
the  quarrel,  ceased  immediately  as  by  a  miracle, 
my  grandfather,  grandmother,  and  father  being 
convulsed  with  laughter. 

My  mother  alone,  of  whom  I  stood  greatly  in 
awe,  snatched  me  off  the  table  roughly  and  was 
going  to  whip  me,  but  in  an  instant  I  was  taken 
from  her  by  three  people,  and  from  that  day  I 
concluded  I  was  very  foolish  to  be  afraid  of  her, 
[93] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

as  the  others  would  always  protect  me  from  her 
severity. 

The  years  went  by  without  bringing  any  great 
changes  in  our  habits.  I  had  become  used  to  the 
"  family  dramas  "  all  the  more  easily  because,  by 
common  accord,  I  was  not  included  in  their  sulks, 
and  had  no  part  in  their  quarrels. 

I  was  about  six  years  old  when  my  grandfather, 
my  grandmother,  and  my  father  each  tried  in  turn 
to  convert  me  to  his  or  her  own  ideas.  I  am  not 
exaggerating.  It  is  true  that  when  six  and  a  half 
years  old  I  was  in  the  second  division  of  the  sec- 
ond class  of  my  school,  that  I  knew  many  things 
of  the  kind  one  can  accumulate  in  the  memory, 
which  was  in  my  case  an  exceptional  gift.  Added 
to  this,  my  grandmother  and  my  father  crammed 
me  with  everything  with  which  it  is  possible  to 
fill  an  unhappy  child's  mind. 

I  remember  that  often  of  an  evening,  after  din- 
ner, while  my  grandfather  and  grandmother  were 
playing  their  game  of  "  Imperiale,"  which  they 
always  did  before  my  grandfather  went  to  his 
club,  I  would  prepare  my  books  and  papers  as 
grandmother  desired,  for  since  my  flight  to  Cau- 
menchon  she  had  never  given  me  an  order.  As 
soon  as  grandfather  had  gone  I  would  work  with 
her  until  I  fell  asleep  over  my  books. 
[94] 


"FAMILY    DRAMAS" 


Seeing  this  preparation,  grandfather  would  al- 
ways say :  "  Now,  phenomenon,  walk  to  your  exe- 
cution, pile  up  your  instruments  of  torture,  and 
don't  forget  a  single  one !  "  And,  going  away,  he 
would  add :  "  They  will  kiU  the  child,  they  will  kill 
her!" 

When  by  chance  grandfather  blamed  any  act 
of  grandmother's  he  never  addressed  himself  di- 
rectly to  her.  The  pronouns  they  or  one  allowed 
him  to  appear  unattacked  if  she  cut  him  with  one 
of  her  words,  sharp  as  a  whip-lash,  and  to  reply 
without  answering  her  personally. 

Whenever  my  grandparents  were  angry  with 
each  other  these  pronouns,  they  or  one,  were  of 
the  greatest  use.  They  spoke  at,  not  to,  each 
other,  and  so  avoided  an  open  quarrel.  They 
would  say,  for  instance,  during  one  of  their  sulks, 
which  would  sometimes  last  for  several  days: 

Grandmother :  "  Will  one  be  at  home  at  such  an 
hour?" 

Grandfather :  "  One  will  do  one's  best  to  accom- 
plish it." 

At  table:  "  Does  any  one  wish  for  some  beef?  " 

At  play :  One  has  this  or  that. 

While  I,  much  annoyed  at  all  this,  would  say 
one  to  both  of  them. 

Then,  suddenly,  without  any  one  knowing  why, 

[95] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

or,  perhaps  because  the  quarrel  had  lasted  long 
enough,  the  familiar  names  were  spoken  again: 
Pelagie,  Pierre,  Juliette;  a  general  kissing  fol- 
lowed, and  all  was  over  without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation. 

Heavens!  how  dramatic,  and,  in  turn,  how 
funny  were  my  dear  grandparents. 

As  I  have  already  said,  each  member  of  the 
family  tried  to  convert  me  to  his  or  her  own  ideas. 

Grandmother  would  try  to  prove  by  French 
history  that  the  greatness  of  France  was  due  to 
our  kings,  who  had  suppressed  the  "  great  feudal 
lords." 

She  detested  every  form  of  feudal  and  autocratic 
systems.  She  loved  the  "  First  Communes,"  the 
"  Tiers-Etat,"  the  "  Bourgeoisie,"  the  moderate 
ones  in  everything — "  the  middle  course,"  as  she 
would  say.  She  made  me,  at  a  very  early  age,  pre- 
fer Louis  XI.  to  Louis  XII.,  the  "  Father  of  his 
People,"  and  Louis  XIII.  to  Henry  IV.,  on  account 
of  Richelieu,  who  had  overthrown  the  great  vas- 
sals. What  the  kings  had  done  for  the  people  in- 
terested her  as  little  as  the  people  themselves,  for 
whom  she  professed  the  greatest  contempt.  The 
people,  the  lower  classes,  were  simply  to  her  "  those 
who  worked  at  gross  things,  and  could  have  no 
idea  of  anything  refined." 
[96] 


"FAMILY    DRAMAS" 


For  these  opinions,  expressed  at  school,  I  was 
often  severely  remonstrated  with  by  the  teachers, 
and  looked  upon  with  indignation  by  ray  com- 
panions. 

I  professed  my  grandmother's  ideas  as  if  they 
were  my  own,  and  I  upheld  them  without  saying 
whence  they  came.  This  came  from  a  double  feel- 
ing of  pride — for  I  gloried  in  thinking  differently 
from  my  little  schoolmates — and  also,  I  recall,  in 
order  not  to  compromise  my  grandmother,  or, 
rather,  to  avoid  having  her  opinions  either  dis- 
cussed or  blamed.  I  spoke  of  her  with  a  passion- 
ate admiration,  which,  willingly  or  unwillingly, 
people  were  obliged  to  submit  to,  under  penalty  of 
blows.  I  strongly  denied  that  any  other  little 
girl  could  have  a  mother  or  grandmother  compara- 
ble to  mine.  They  could  do  what  they  liked  with  me 
by  saying  that  from  Chauny  to  Paris  there  was 
not  another  mother  or  grandmother  who  loved  their 
daughter  and  granddaughter  as  I  was  loved. 
Then  my  generosity  knew  no  bounds,  and  would 
flow  abundantly  over  the  flatterers;  usually  this 
generosity  consisted  in  the  offering  of  certain 
sugar-plums  made  of  apples  and  cherries,  red  and 
yellow,  which  were  delicious,  and  of  which  I  bought 
a  daily  supply  from  a  grocer  on  my  way  to  school, 
thereby  obliging  him  to  renew  his  stock  at  least 
twice  a  week. 

8  [97] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

These  sugar-plums  became  later  a  source  of  re- 
proach to  me,  for  through  them  I  established  my 
dominion  over  the  girls  I  liked  best,  probably  the 
most  greedy  ones,  and  really  corrupted  them.  But 
my  domination,  it  is  true,  was  also  built  on  more 
honourable  foundations;  for,  although  I  directed 
the  games,  and  although  my  companions  obeyed 
me  at  recreations,  it  was  not  solely  on  account 
of  the  sugar-plums,  quickly  eaten  up,  but  be- 
cause I  was  always  inventing  new  games.  Being 
both  tall  and  strong  also  helped  me  to  head  the 
ranks.  It  was  dangerous  to  measure  forces  with 
me. 

My  budget  of  political  opinions  was  consequent- 
ly thus  made  up:  Worship  of  Louis  XL,  "the 
Father  of  the  Communes,"  as  grandmother  called 
him;  worship  of  Louis  XIII. ,  who  had  cut  all  the 
feudal  towers  in  two;  worship  of  Louis  Philippe, 
"  the  Liberal  King." 

Grandfather  seized  every  occasion  to  try  to  con- 
vince me  that  the  Emperor  had  carried  the  glory 
of  France  on  the  wings  of  Fame  to  the  uttermost 
ends  of  the  earth,  that  the  whirling  of  his  sword 
(he  would  make  the  movement  with  his  two  large 
arms,  one  after  the  other,  inversely,  which  delight- 
ed me)  had  terrified  not  only  the  beheaders  of 
"  Lambert's  Jacobite  Revolution  "  (this  a  shaft  at 
[98] 


"FAMILY    DRAMAS" 


my  father),  but  had  conquered  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe  as  far  as  Africa  and  Asia. 

How  often  I  heard  this  speech!  But,  unfortu- 
nately for  grandfather,  it  used  to  convulse  grand- 
mother and  me  with  laughter. 

"  I  have  had  the  honour  in  person  of  serving  the 
Emperor,  and  neither  of  you  can  say  as  much,"  he 
would  add  with  superb  dignity  (rising  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  seated),  "  and  I  will  not  allow  a  word, 
a  single  word,  to  be  spoken  which  might  impair  a 
hair's-breadth  his  immortal,  his  eternal  memory." 

Grandfather  knew  all  of  Beranger's  songs,  espe- 
cially and  exclusively  those  that  exalted  his  Em- 
peror ;  but  he  made  an  exception  of  the  "  Old 
Vagabond,"  which  saddened  him,  and  brought  back 
the  memory  of  his  own  misery — "  the  misery  of  my 
youth,"  he  would  say — and  his  philosophy  during 
that  time. 

I  have  already  said  what  a  colossally  big  man 
grandfather  was,  and  that  he  drank  copiously. 
Towards  evening,  speaking  of  the  Emperor  and 
the  campaigns  he  had  followed  at  Liitzen  and 
elsewhere,  he  usually  made  a  mistake  in  the  final 
triumphant  phrase.  There  I  had  him. 

"  Take  care,  grandfather,  not  to  upset  your  fine 
phrase." 

He  would  begin  it,  and,  invariably  being 
[99] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

troubled  by  my  interruption,  would  end  it  in  an 
emphatic  manner  impossible  to  describe,  and  with 
an  outburst  of  inimitable  pride: 

"  And  when  Larrey  needed  me  no  longer,  I 
fought  on  my  own  account,  joining  the  Grena- 
diers' Guards,  and  I  was  always  the  last  to  fight 
and  the  first  to  run." 

Then  I  would  clap  my  hands  and  cry :  "  Bravo, 
grandfather !  "  and  he  would  understand  by  that 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake. 


[100] 


IX 


LEARNING    TO    BE    BEAVE 

|F  my  grandmother,  who  was  not  a  learned 
person,  and  who  acquired  much  knowledge  in 
educating  me,  wished  to  make  me  learned,  my 
grandfather,  who  as  a  general  rule  was  lacking  in 
courage,  wished  me  to  become  a  brave  woman. 

Early  on  Sunday  mornings,  before  going  to 
high  mass  with  my  schoolmates,  he  would  take  me 
with  him  to  the  Hospital.  I  was  a  friend  of  Sister 
Victoire,  who  used  to  aid  my  grandfather  in  his 
dressing  of  wounds  and  his  operations.  Both  of 
them  were  forming  me  to  look  on  human  misery, 
they  said. 

I  often  assisted  at  small  operations,  and  grand- 
father promised  that  when,  by  my  good  behaviour, 
I  was  worthy  of  it,  I  should  be  present  at  more 
important  ones. 

He  showed  me  what  he  called  "  fine  "  wounds. 
Sister  Victoire  often  taught  me,  especially  if  she 
were  dressing  a  child's  wound,  how  to  roll  and  place 
a  bandage.  When  I  was  seven  years  old  I  knew 
a  good  many  things  about  surgery,  and  could  be 
of  some  help  to  Sister  Victoire  and  grandfather. 
[101] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

I  could  prepare  an  arm  for  bleeding;  I  learned 
how  to  bleed,  myself,  and  how  to  bandage  an  arm 
after  the  operation,  and  this  was  most  important, 
for,  in  those  days,  bleeding  was  an  important  part 
of  medical  practice. 

During  the  summer  grandfather  would  often 
bleed  people  in  the  courtyard  of  our  house,  near 
the  garden,  under  a  lilac  tree  of  which  I  was  very 
fond,  and  whose  perfume  when  in  flower  intoxi- 
cated me.  It  was  not  a  shrub  but  a  real  tree,  af- 
fording shade. 

People  used  to  come  and,  without  giving  any 
explanation  or  asking  for  a  consultation,  say  sim- 
ply :  "  I  have  come  to  be  bled,"  and  they  were  bled 
on  the  spot. 

I  was  sent  to  fetch  the  lancet,  basin,  and  ban- 
dages. I  held  the  basin,  and,  when  the  operation 
was  over,  I  dug  a  hole  at  the  foot  of  my  lilac  tree, 
and  poured  in  the  blood.  Perhaps  that  was  the 
reason  why  it  was  so  beautiful,  and  why  the  flowers 
were  so  plentiful  and  sweet. 

Grandmother  could  not  look  at  a  drop  of  blood. 
Had  she  been  obliged  to  witness  a  simple  bleeding, 
she  would  have  fainted. 

Grandfather  would  keep  saying  all  the  while  to 
her :  "  I  am  making  a  brave  woman  of  your  grand- 
child. She,  at  least,  is  not  afraid  of  a  few  drops 
[102] 


LEARNING  TO  BE  BRAVE 


of  blood.  The  only  thing  she  needs  now  is  to  love 
war,  renown,  and  the  Emperor." 

"  And  to  be  as  brave  as  you  are,"  grandmother 
would  add.  "  I  am  afraid  of  the  sight  of  blood," 
she  said,  "  but  if  France  were  again  invaded,  I 
feel  that  I  should  fear  neither  Prussians  nor 
English." 

Although  grandmother  would  laugh  at  grand- 
father's want  of  courage,  she  was  very  pleased  that 
I  was  not  afraid  at  the  sight  of  blood,  and  she 
often  thanked  him  for  having  kept  me  from  this 
weakness.  My  schoolmates  thought  more  highly 
of  me  for  my  courage,  and  sugar-plums  had,  in 
this  instance,  nothing  to  do  with  their  estimation 
of  me. 

In  the  little  school-world,  and  even  in  the  town, 
some  traits  of  my  courage  were  told ;  among  others 
this  rather  ghastly  one: 

A  notary  of  Chauny  had  some  time  before  com- 
mitted suicide,  and  his  body  had  been  given  to  my 
grandfather,  who  had  asked  for  it.  He  had  a  very 
fine  skeleton  made  from  it,  which  was  kept  in  the 
garret,  and  was  called  "  the  notary."  Arthemise 
was  dreadfully  afraid  of  it.  I  knew  the  "  notary  " 
very  well,  being  always  prowling  about  the  garret 
to  hunt  for  the  place  where  grandfather  hid  his 
money,  which  I  always  found.  I  was  passionately 
[103] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

fond  of  this  special  kind  of  hunting.  When  I  had 
found  the  money,  I  changed  the  hiding-place,  and 
would  tease  grandfather  for  days  by  not  letting 
him  know  where  I  had  hidden  it,  and  defying  him 
to  find  any  hiding-place  that  would  be  secret  from 
me. 

When  at  last  I  told  him  where  the  money  was, 
I  deducted,  according  to  the  sum,  a  small  per- 
centage for  my  sugar-plums. 

I  used  then  to  tell  grandmother  (when  grand- 
father did  not  tell  her  himself,  for  there  was  never 
the  slightest  discussion  about  money  matters  be- 
tween them),  I  used  to  tell  her  the  adventure, 
which  would  greatly  amuse  her. 

"  Only,"  she  would  say,  "  do  not  take  any  money 
from  what  you  find.  I  do  not  think  it  is  nice. 
Whenever  you  want  money  for  your  sugar-plums, 
ask  me  for  it." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  with  grandfather  I  earn  it." 
And  I  really  thought  I  had  earned  the  money  by 
all  the  trouble  I  had  taken. 

I  always  fancied  that  the  "  notary,"  whose  hor- 
rid history  I  learned  only  long  afterwards,  helped 
me  to  find  grandfather's  money,  and  consequently 
I  considered  the  skeleton  my  friend.  So  it  did  not 
strike  me  as  unusual  when,  one  summer  evening, 
while  some  neighbours  were  enjoying  the  cool  air 
[104] 


LEARNING  TO  BE  BRAVE 


with  us  in  our  moonlit  garden,  my  grandfather 
should  have  told  me  to  go  and  fetch  the  "  notary  " 
from  the  garret,  which,  by  the  way,  he  would  not 
have  done  himself. 

Grandmother  nodded  approvingly,  delighted  at 
the  idea  that  I  was  about  to  do  something  extraor- 
dinary, which  would  the  next  day  electrify  the 
town.  She  looked  at  me  with  her  bright  eyes  and 
her  red-gold  hair  shining  in  the  moonlight.  She 
was  dressed  in  white,  her  favourite  colour  for  her- 
self and  for  me,  and  wore  a  large  bunch  of  lilacs 
I  had  pinned  on  her  bosom. 

"  Shall  I  go  ? "  I  asked  her  in  a  low  tone. 
"  They  will  be  frightened — they  do  not  know  what 
the  '  notary  '  is." 

"  Yes,  go,"  she  said,  laughing. 

I  went  up  to  the  garret  to  fetch  the  "  notary." 

He  was  very  large,  and  I  was  very  small.  I  put 
his  head  under  my  left  arm,  and  with  my  right 
hand  took  hold  of  the  banister.  The  moon  was 
shining  through  the  window.  I  can  still  hear  the 
noise  his  bones  made  as  they  rattled  on  the  stairs 
behind  me. 

I  entered  the  garden,  and  threw  the  "  notary  " 

on    grandfather's    knees.     There    was    a    general 

scream.     The    children    shrieked,    and    hid    their 

heads  in  their  mothers'  laps.     The  mothers  cried: 

[105] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Oh !  what  a  horrible  thing !  It  is  frightful ! 
Monsieur  Seron,  take  it  away !  " 

Grandfather  enjoyed  the  joke,  and  laughed  with 
all  his  might.  One  woman  fainted,  and,  while 
grandmother  was  throwing  water  on  her  face,  he 
took  the  "  notary  "  and  placed  it  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs.  He  did  not  dare  to  take  it  up  himself. 

We  found  this  out  afterwards,  because  Arthe- 
mise,  coming  into  the  room  which  I  shared  with 
grandmother,  when  we  had  gone  to  bed,  cried  out : 

"  Madame,  Mam'zelle,  the  '  notary '  has  got 
downstairs  alone.  He  is  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case ! " 

Grandfather  was  obliged  to  get  up  and  put  it 
back  in  the  garret,  but  he  made  Arthemise  go  with 
him  carrying  a  light. 

My  grandfather — who  would  believe  it? — had 
very  poetical  tastes  and  was  fond  of  pigeons. 
We  had  hundreds  of  them,  and  he  had  made  me 
share  his  passion  for  these  pets,  and  every  day 
after  breakfast  he  and  I  would  feed  them.  They 
flew  all  about  us,  just  as  later  in  life  I  have  seen 
them  do  on  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco  at  Venice.  We 
slipped  on  large  linen  blouses  with  hoods,  and  the 
pigeons  would  cover  us  entirely,  head  and  shoul- 
ders, arms  and  hands.  They  clung  to  us  and 
picked  at  us.  The  flutter  of  their  wings  and  their 
[106] 


LEARNING  TO  BE  BRAVE 


cooing  delighted  me,  and  seemed  like  music. 
When  we  moved,  they  followed  us  with  their  pretty, 
mincing  steps. 

Grandfather  and  I  were  very  fond  of  our  pig- 
eons, but  grandmother,  finding  that  they  multi- 
plied too  fast,  had  the  young  ones  taken  from  their 
nests,  while  we  were  absent,  by  a  man  who  sold 
them,  which  grieved  us  very  much.  I  heard  of  it 
through  a  little  schoolmate,  whose  mother  had 
bought  some,  and  who  told  me  one  day  that  she 
had  eaten  some  of  my  pigeons. 

I  scolded  grandmother,  who  asked  me  if  I  would 
rather  have  eaten  them  myself. 

"  Most  certainly  not !  " 

Grandfather  calmed  me  by  saying  that  we  could 
not  possibly  keep  all  that  were  born,  and  that 
grandmother  did  quite  right,  provided  she  would 
only  take  the  young  ones,  and  leave  us  the  fathers 
and  mothers.  She  promised  this,  and  kept  her 
word,  and  the  old  ones  became  more  and  more  tame. 


[107] 


A   THREE    WEEKS     VISIT 

|N  October  4th,  when  I  was  eight  years  old, 
my  father  obtained  grandmother's  approval 
to  take  me  to  Blerancourt  for  a  three  weeks'  visit, 
until  All  Saints'  Day,  for  she  felt  sure  of  hav- 
ing directed  my  ideas  according  to  her  way  of 
thinking  by  that  time.  We  had  never  before  been 
separated  for  so  long,  and  were  much  grieved — I 
less  than  I  thought  I  should  be,  and  she  more  than 
I  feared. 

My  father  loved  me  so  tenderly,  so  passionately, 
he  took  so  much  trouble  with  a  few  words,  spoken 
here  and  there,  to  make  his  ideas  interesting  to 
me;  he  treated  me  so  like  a  woman,  desiring,  I 
could  feel,  to  overcome  the  repugnance  with  which 
my  grandmother  had  inspired  me  concerning  his 
democratic,  Jacobite,  free-masonic,  anti-religious 
opinions — "without  God,  oh,  heavens!" — which, 
like  a  spoiled  child,  I  had  often  expressed  to  him, 
that  this  journey  with  him  seemed  to  me  a  most 
serious  thing.  I  fancied  that  his  companionship 
during  the  next  three  weeks  would  do  more  toward 
[108] 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


drawing  me  to  him,  and  taking  me  from  grand- 
mother, than  absence  itself. 

"  Jean  Louis,"  said  my  grandmother  to  him, 
after  kissing  him  warmly,  as  he  got  into  the  car- 
riage where  I  was  already  seated,  "  bring  her  back 
to  me  the  same  as  I  give  her  to  you.  You  owe  it 
to  me ! " 

We  were  starting.  My  father  answered, 
laughing : 

"  I  do  not  promise  any  such  thing." 

I  heard  grandmother  cry  out: 

"  Juliette,  stay !  " 

A  strong  cut  of  the  whip  started  the  horse. 

I  did  not  turn  back  my  head,  but  burst  into 
tears.  My  father  did  not  attempt  to  console  me, 
as  my  grandmother  would  have  done.  She  could 
never  bear  to  see  me  cry. 

He  kissed  me  violently,  repeating :  "  My  daugh- 
ter, my  child,  my  own — at  last,  at  last !  " 
#  *  * 

My  mother  welcomed  me  in  her  usual  cold  man- 
ner. My  father's  growing  passion  for  me,  to 
which  he  now  freely  abandoned  himself,  grand- 
mother's absence  removing  all  restraint,  seemed  to 
her  exaggerated. 

"  It  would  seem  as  if  your  child  were  a  divinity 
on  earth,"  she  said  to  him  one  day  before  me. 
[109] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Better  than  that ;  she  is  my  daughter ! "  an- 
swered my  father,  and  added,  laughing :  "  I  should 
not  be  far  amiss  in  thinking  her  a  daughter  of 
Olympus." 

My  mother  detested  witty  sayings,  which  she 
classed  in  the  same  category  with  teasings,  and 
this  pun  on  her  name  did  not  please  her.  Ever 
since  my  father's  sojourn  at  Brussels,  she  called 
him  nothing  but  Monsieur  Lamber,  although  she 
still  used  the  familiar  thou. 

"  Oh !  Monsieur  Lamber,  your  speech  is  in  very 
bad  taste,"  she  answered. 

On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  me  very  clear,  and 
I  often  laughingly  repeated  it  to  father  when  he 
was  instructing  me  about  Greece.  He  had  found 
my  mind  open  to  antique  subjects,  and  I  would  say 
to  him: 

"  Am  I  not  the  daughter  of  Olympus  ?  " 

My  father  would  always  take  me  with  him  on 
foot,  on  his  visits  round  about  to  his  patients.  He 
taught  me  to  drive  his  rather  spirited  horse,  and 
we  would  drive  in  his  two-seated  carriage  over 
good  or  bad  roads  to  see  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
especially  the  latter. 

I  told  him  of  my  studies  in  history,  and  of 
grandmother's  opinions,  which  I  shared. 

"  See,  child,"  he  said  to  me,  "  you  and  your 
[110] 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


grandmother  have  every  reason  to  admire  Louis 
XI.  and  Louis  XIII.,  because  you  both  think  that 
under  their  reigns  the  nobles  were  cast  down; 
whereas,  they  only  changed  their  own  condition 
vis-a-vis  to  royalty.  They  became  courtiers ;  they 
were  domesticated  by  the  kings,  but  they  remained 
much  as  they  were  towards  the  bourgeoisie  and  the 
people ;  they  kept  the  same  distance  between  them- 
selves and  their  inferiors  as  the  sovereigns  had  kept 
with  them.  Before  the  Revolution  equality  did 
not  exist  anywhere.  That  alone  began  the  great 
work.  Let  me  tell  you  of  Saint- Just,  whom,  of 
all  the  makers  of  the  Revolution,  I  understand  the 
best.  He  is  to  me  a  friend  known  and  lost.  I  will 
take  you  to  see  his  sister,  and  you  will  see  how 
sweet  and  charming  she  is.  You  will  amuse  her. 
She  speaks  so  affectionately  of  her  brother  that  he, 
my  Saint-Just,  will  cease  to  be  to  you  the  beheader 
and  monster  that  your  grandparents  have  repre- 
sented." 

"  Oh !  papa,  I  shall  never  be,  like  you,  the  friend 
of  that  dreadful  Saint-Just,  or  that  horrible 
Robespierre — never !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  You  have  as  yet  heard 
only  one  side  of  the  question.  You  hate  all  in- 
justice, you  love  the  poor  and  the  humble  people; 
you  will  therefore  absolve  those  who  have  eman- 
[111] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

cipated  them,  even  at  the  cost  of  violence.  You 
see,  there  is  no  moderation  in  politics.  They  are 
like  a  swing,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  You  are 
thrown  twice  up  to  the  extreme  heights,  and  you 
pass  the  middle  line  only  once  out  of  three  times." 

"  Well,  papa,  I  am  for  the  middle  place — the 
middle,  above  all.  Like  grandmother,  I  hate  ex- 
tremes." 

"  Juliette,  you  are  not  serious  ?  " 

"  But,  papa,  you  began  while  smiling  in  your 
talk  about  the  swing." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry,  and  I  wish  to  tell  you,  once 
for  all,  that  the  great  Revolution  itself  has  not 
done  sufficient  work." 

"  Oh !  papa,  for  shame !  " 

"  No.  Listen  to  me.  The  nobles  had  op- 
pressed the  people — you  know  in  what  manner, 
you  know  all  about  it,  for  you  speak  as  one  well 
informed.  Your  grandmother  and  you  judge  the 
*  great  ones,'  as  they  should  be  judged.  But  that 
is  not  everything;  you  must  not  stop  on  the  road. 
Since  the  nobles  have  been  cast  down,  other  op- 
pressors have  sprung  up,  just  as  hard,  just  as 
tyrannical,  to  the  poor  and  humble  ones  as  the 
former  were,  and  these  are  neither  as  valiant  nor 
as  fine  as  were  the  feudal  lords,  the  knights  of 
chivalry.  The  *  great  ones '  of  to-day  belong  to 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


the  upper  bourgeoise  class.  We  require  a  second 
Louis  XI.,  a  second  Richelieu,  and  another  Revolu- 
tion, to  destroy  this  new  feudal  system.  We  have 
found  the  new  formula,  my  child,  to  open,  at  last, 
the  reign  of  absolute  justice,  and  we  shall  achieve 
it  by  a  Republic,  and  by  the  principles  of  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity.  There  will  be  no  colossal 
fortunes  on  one  side  and  complete  misery  on  the 
other.  Suffering  and  justice  will  be  equitably 
distributed." 

"  That  will  be  a  magnificent  time,  papa,  but  will 
it  ever  come  to  pass  ?  " 

I  had  been  so  often  told  that  my  father  was  an 
absurd  and  dangerous  dreamer  that  I  was  doubt- 
ful of  the  perspicacity  of  his  judgment;  and  still 
his  words  sank  into  my  heart,  because  I  found 
them  generous  and  tender  towards  the  unhappy 
ones  of  the  earth. 

It  is  easy  to  explain  the  fascination  such  simple 
theories  would  have  for  a  child's  mind.  Such  con- 
versation made  a  deep  impression.  My  father  was 
of  the  type  of  those  who  were  called  later  on  "  the 
old  beards  of  1848."  An  idealist,  without  any 
notion  of  the  probabilities  of  reality,  my  father 
thought  that  his  political  conceptions  were  abso- 
lute truths.  As  sentimental  and  as  romantic  as 
was  my  grandmother,  he  fostered  illusions  about 
9  [  113  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

political  life  resembling  those  which  she  fostered 
about  individual  life. 

However,  some  of  his  conceptions  seemed  sublime 
to  me  in  my  childhood. 

My  father  gave  a  place  to  nature  in  all  that  he 
said  to  me,  for  he  sermonised  me  continually.  The 
doctrine  of  Christ,  which  had  given  the  formulas 
of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity,  was  mingled  in 
his  mind  with  an  exuberant,  poetical  paganism, 
and  this  amalgamation  furnished  his  discourses 
with  pompous  arguments  on  charity,  on  the  laws 
of  social  sacrifice,  and  on  the  divine  attributes  of 
human  heroism.  My  childish  imagination,  already 
initiated  in  researches  for  what  grandmother  called 
"  superior  things,"  was  dazzled  and  fascinated  by 
degrees. 

My  father's  professional  ability  served  marvel- 
lously well  in  placing  all  things  of  which  he  spoke 
within  my  mind's  reach.  He  simplified  questions 
to  such  a  degree  that  he  succeeded  in  leading  me  to 
converse  with  him,  and  in  making  me  feel  that  he 
took  an  extreme  pleasure  in  our  conversations. 

This  made  me  very  proud.  He  was  prudent  in 
all  that  he  said  to  me :  "  I  do  not  say  this  to  influ- 
ence you;  you  are  still  too  young  for  me  to  en- 
force any  ideas  upon  you ;  I  will  teach  you  later," 
etc.,  etc.  I  listened  to  admirable  sonorous  phrases, 
[114] 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


but  could  not  judge  of  the  gaps  in  their  practical 
demonstrations,  or  of  the  possibility  of  the  appli- 
cation of  his  ideas.  I  was  touched  by  his  devoted- 
ness  to  the  suffering  classes,  of  whom  he  often 
spoke. 

I  had,  however,  an  instinctive  feeling  that  the 
violence  of  my  father's  character,  of  which  he  gave 
too  frequent  proofs,  might  make  him,  like  his 
friend  Saint-Just,  cruel  towards  the  fortunate  ones 
of  this  world,  as  his  good  heart  made  him  kind  to 
the  unhappy.  And  I  wished  to  know  whether  I 
had  guessed  rightly.  It  was  a  hidden  place  in  his 
heart  to  discover. 

"  I  agree,  after  all,  that  your  Saint-Just  loved 
the  humble  and  poor  as  much  as  you  do,"  I  said 
to  my  father  one  day,  "  but  you  cannot  prove  to 
me  that  he  was  not  cruel,  that  he  did  not  kill." 

He  answered: 

"  Action  changes  a  man's  nature ;  you  must 
judge  Saint- Just  from  his  intentions." 

"  Hell  is  paved  with  them,  papa,"  I  said. 

I  had  discovered  what  I  wished  to  know. 

"  In  spite  of  what  your  grandmother  says,"  he 
added,  "  I  do  not  love  Robespierre,  because  he  was 
born  a  Jacobin.  One  should  not  be  born  a  Jaco- 
bin. A  person  may  become  one,  but  it  is  nec- 
essary first  of  all  to  have  been  a  humanitarian. 
[115] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Ferocity  is  permissible  only  to  defend  one's  prin- 
ciples, or  one's  country  when  it  is  in  danger.  In 
order  to  legitimatise  it,  there  must  be  provocation." 

He  had  told  me  about  the  leaves  of  the  sensitive 
plant,  and,  when  he  said  something  which  dis- 
pleased me,  I  would  reply : 

"  Enough,  papa,  I  fold  myself  up !  "  Then  he 
would  call  me  sensitive,  and  we  would  cease  talking. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  actually 
probed  in  my  brain  as  with  a  red-hot  poker,  as 
grandmother,  also,  too  often  did.  I  felt  great 
pain  in  my  temples,  and  would  say: 

"  I  can't  listen  to  you  any  longer.     I  feel  ill." 

My  father  took  a  great  journal,  La  Democratic 
Pacifique  of  Victor  Considerant,  to  which  he  was 
one  of  the  first  subscribers.  My  grandmother  did 
not  read  newspapers.  She  heard  the  news  from 
grandfather,  who  read  the  Gazettes  at  his  club.  I 
thought  my  father  admirable  because  he  read  four 
great  pages  every  day,  and  knew  at  Blerancourt 
everything  that  was  taking  place  in  the  whole 
world. 

Later,  in  recalling  what  I  had  suffered  in  my 
childhood  and  the  first  years  of  my  youth,  I  re- 
membered that  at  that  time  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  "  walls  "  of  my  brain  were  too  light  to  sup- 
port the  pressure  of  the  mass  of  ideas  which  my 
[116] 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


father  and  grandmother  strove  alternately  to  force 
between  them.  I  felt  these  "  walls "  tremble  at 
times  and  threaten  to  fall  in. 

I  often  played  with  the  chemist's  daughter, 
Emilienne  Decaisne,  great-niece  of  Saint-Just.  I 
thought  her  kind  and  charming,  but  my  father  said 
she  was  not  sufficiently  proud  of  her  great-uncle. 
He  often  made  his  friend  Decaisne  angry — "  the 
too  lukewarm  nephew  of  Saint-Just,"  as  he  called 
him. 

I  went  one  day  to  see  Saint-Just's  sister,  Ma- 
dame Decaisne,  the  chemist's  mother,  and  Emili- 
enne's  grandmother.  She  lived  at  the  extreme  end 
of  that  beautiful  quarter  of  Blerancourt  called  the 
Marais,  where  the  lines  of  plane-trees  perfumed 
the  place  in  the  spring,  and  where  the  ruins  of  the 
Louis  XIV.  chateau  are  so  fine.  Madame  Decaisne 
inhabited  a  well-preserved  house  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  looking  on  a  garden,  surrounded  by  high 
walls. 

She  was  a  very  old  lady  of  extreme  elegance,  tall 
and  slight,  dressed  in  the  antique  fashion.  She 
made  pretty  curtsies,  and  raised  her  gown  with  her 
two  hands  very  gracefully  when  she  walked  in  the 
garden,  and,  as  my  father  said,  seemed  always 
about  to  dance  the  minuet. 

In  her  large  drawing-room,  furnished  with  Louis 

[117] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

•  ~ « 

XV.  and  Louis  XVI.  furniture,  which  my  grand- 
mother had  taught  me  to  discern  and  to  admire, 
and  which  my  father  thought  old-fashioned  and 
horrible,  as  he  cared  only  for  modern  furniture — 
the  furniture  of  "  progress  "  made  of  mahogany 
and  ebony — Madame  Decaisne  seemed  to  me  like 
an  apparition. 

There  lived  with  her  in  her  house  (although  her 
son  did  not  like  it,  my  father  told  me  before  we 
went  in)  an  old  friend,  the  Chevalier  de  Saint- 
Louis,  dressed  also  in  old-time  fashion,  who  was 
called  simply  "  Monsieur  le  Chevalier." 

Madame  Decaisne  and  the  Chevalier  had  both 
remained  thorough  Royalists  and  Legitimists,  de- 
testing the  "  Egalite  branch,"  but  faithful  to  the 
memory  of  Saint-Just,  of  whom  the  Chevalier  had 
been  the  friend.  "  In  spite  of  the  crimes  they  had 
made  him  commit,"  said  Madame  Decaisne,  "  she 
and  the  Chevalier  had  not  ceased  to  love  him." 

The  Chevalier  amused  me  very  much  because  he 
glided  and  skipped  over  the  waxed  floors,  and 
kissed  Madame  Decaisne's  hand  when  he  left  her 
only  for  an  instant.  He  spoke  of  Saint-Just  with 
affection. 

"  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  my  father  said,  "  is  it 
not  true  that  Saint-Just  still  strikes  you  as  having 
been,  above  all,  a  humanitarian  and  a  poet  ?  " 
[118] 


A  THREE  WEEKS'  VISIT 


"  Yes,"  he  replied,  and  added :  "  Besides,  he, 
who  was  so  intelligent,  so  superior,  so  full  of  hope 
for  the  great  future,  expiated  his  errors  by  his 
death.  One  should  have  seen  him  in  the  political 
storm  to  be  able  to  understand  how  so  good  and 
so  noble,  but  too  fanatical,  a  man  could  at  cer- 
tain moments  have  thought  that  *  blood  was  nec- 
essary.' " 

The  "  necessary  blood "  remained  in  my  mind 
after  I  heard  the  Chevalier  use  the  phrase. 

I  spoke  to  grandmother  about  it  on  my  return 
to  Chauny,  and  she  was  not  as  indignant  as  I 
supposed  she  would  be. 

"  When  the  kings  protected  the  people  from  the 
nobles,  they  caused  necessary  blood  to  be  shed," 
she  said  to  me,  "  and  the  kings  grew  greater  in 
spite  of  their  crimes.  If  the  men  of  the  Revolu- 
tion had  shed  only  the  enemy's  blood  at  the  fron- 
tiers, and  that  of  traitors — of  which  there  were  a 
few  like  the  Messieurs  de  Sainte-Aldegonde,  who 
during  the  invasion  called  the  invaders  of  France, 
*  Our  friends,  the  enemies ' — if,  I  say,  the  men  of 
the  Revolution  had  not  killed  for  the  desire  of  so 
doing,  they  would  have  been  absolved,  but  they 
sacrificed  innocent  persons  to  their  ferocity,  and 
they  will  never  be  forgiven.  Your  father  is 
one  of  those  who,  like  Saint-Just,  wishes  to  purify 

[119] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

society  more  and  more,  after  having  shed  '  neces- 
sary blood.'  He  is  one  of  those  humanitarian 
Jacobins,  people  more  cruel  than  the  wickedest, 
who  think  they  have  the  right  to  be  implacable 
under  the  pretext  that  they  have  been  tender- 
hearted in  their  youth." 

But,  to  return  to  Saint- Just's  sister:  She  took 
a  fancy  to  me.  Living  with  my  grandparents, 
whom  I  still  considered  young,  I  adored  old  people. 
Madame  Decaisne  one  day  read  to  me  some  of 
Saint-Just's  poetry.  It  was  about  a  little  shep- 
herd leading  his  flock  to  pasture,  and  the  unhap- 
piness  of  roses  because  they  had  thorns.  She 
threw  so  much  feeling  into  the  reading  that  I  shed 
tears,  and  thereby  won  her  heart  and  that  of  the 
Chevalier. 


[120] 


XI 


A   PAINFUL   RETUEN   HOME 

JHE  three  weeks  passed  so  quickly  that  I  had 
written  very  seldom  to  my  grandmother,  not 
daring  to  speak  to  her  about  the  conversations  with 
my  father,  or  of  the  impression  they  had  made 
upon  me.  I  said  to  myself  it  would  be  better  to 
make  my  confession  slowly.  In  like  manner,  as 
my  father  had  enlightened  me  with  regard  to  his 
ideas,  I  would  enlighten  my  grandmother  concern- 
ing mine.  Moreover,  I  had  not  been  converted. 
Saint-Just's  ferocity  was  absolved,  for  reasons  I 
could  not  quite  remember;  my  father,  so  good,  so 
benevolent,  was  capable  of  becoming  cruel  after 
"  provocation  " — I  remembered  that  word — all  this 
aroused  a  great  revolt  in  me,  and  overthrew  my 
first  enthusiasm. 

There  had  been  several  "  family  dramas  "  on  my 
account.  I  occupied  too  large  a  place  in  my 
father's  life,  and  my  mother  could  not  overcome 
that  unfortunate  jealousy  which  caused  us  all  so 
much  sorrow. 

My  father  loved  her  passionately  for  her  beauty, 
[121] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

which  should  have  given  her  every  right  to  believe 
herself  loved ;  I  looked  at  her  with  admiration,  and 
bestowed  upon  her  a  sort  of  worship;  and  my 
grandparents  were  very  proud  of  her.  But  she 
had  spoiled  our  mutual  affection  by  her  coldness, 
and  destroyed  our  confidence  in  her  love  for  us, 
because  she  constantly  doubted  our  love;  none  of 
our  assurances  would  convince  her,  whereas  a  care- 
less word,  spoken  by  chance,  without  any  real  in- 
tention of  wounding  her,  became  to  her  a  proof  of 
all  she  imagined,  and  then  she  became  so  unjust 
it  made  one  believe  she  was  hard-hearted.  Where- 
as, in  truth,  her  undeserved,  cutting  reproaches, 
her  insinuations,  her  accusations,  were  only  a  sort 
of  despair  at  not  being  able  to  force  us  to  love  her 
as  she  wished  to  be  loved,  and  at  not  having  won 
a  larger  amount  of  our  affection  precisely  on  ac- 
count of  that  conduct  which  made  us  love  her 


My  father  wished  to  take  me  back  to  my  grand- 
mother himself.  She  opposed  his  wish,  and  it  was 
she  who  accompanied  me  home.  The  pain  she 
caused  me  during  that  short  journey  recalled  to 
me  my  first  day  at  school. 

We  were  both  mounted  on  the  same  donkey,  and 
had  not  gone  very  far  on  our  route  when,  the 
animal  becoming  fatigued,  my  mother  got  down. 


A  PAINFUL  RETURN  HOME 

She  talked  as  she  walked  along,  while  I,  very  proud, 
held  the  reins  and  did  not  wish  to  think  of  any- 
thing else. 

My  mother  questioned  me  in  a  wearisome  and 
annoying  manner  about  my  grandmother's  love  for 
me.  She  made  me  impatient,  and,  not  being  ac- 
customed to  control  myself,  I  answered  two  or 
three  times: 

"  Mamma,  I  beg  of  you,  leave  me  alone ;  you 
torment  me  more  than  the  priest  at  confession." 

"  Has  your  grandmother  ever  told  you  she  would 
find  a  husband  for  you  and  give  you  a  great  deal 
of  money — a  dot?  "  she  asked  me  suddenly  after 
a  silence. 

Having  got  up  early,  with  my  head  drowsy, 
and  having  been  tormented  for  half  an  hour,  I 
answered  unfortunately : 

"  Yes,  grandmother  will  give  me  as  large  a  dot 
as  she  can.  Are  you  satisfied?" 

My  mother  struck  the  donkey,  which  was  also 
half  asleep.  I  was  jolted  so  unexpectedly  that  I 
fell  off  on  the  opposite  side  from  my  mother  on  a 
heap  of  stones. 

The  shock  stunned  me.     I  was  blinded  by  blood. 

I  called  "  Mamma ! "  and  found  she  was  no  longer 

by  me.     I  got  up,  took  my  handkerchief  and  tried 

to  collect  the  blood  on  my  forehead;  my  flowing 

[123] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

tears  enabled  me  to  open  my  eyes.  I  looked  for 
her,  but  a  turn  in  the  road  prevented  me  from  see- 
ing how  far  away  she  might  be.  She  had  disap- 
peared in  order  to  punish  me.  I  thought  she  had 
abandoned  me,  alone  and  bleeding. 

I  started  to  run  as  fast  as  I  could.  My  mother 
was  waiting  for  me.  The  sight  of  the  blood  which 
covered  my  face,  and  which  came  from  a  wound 
under  my  hair  near  my  temple,  and  which  grand- 
father said  in  the  evening  might  have  killed  me, 
did  not  touch  her  heart.  She  raised  me  from  the 
ground  by  my  belt  without  getting  off  the  donkey, 
which  she  had  remounted,  placed  me  on  her  lap 
without  saying  a  word,  holding  me  tightly  with 
her  left  arm  while  she  drove  the  donkey  with  her 
right  hand,  tapping  its  head  with  the  reins. 

I  was  very  uncomfortably  seated,  and  suffered 
much  from  my  position,  but  I  did  not  complain. 
I  thought  only  of  getting  home,  of  seeing  my 
grandmother,  whom  I  would  never  leave  again. 

I  did  not  cease  sobbing,  and  the  people  who  met 
us  could  not  understand  my  evident  despair  nor 
my  mother's  impassibility. 

My  grandmother,  informed  of  my  coming,  was 

at  the  window  with  Arthemise.     They  ran  to  the 

door  on  seeing  us.     When  my  grandmother  saw 

the  state  I  was  in,  she  took  me  into  the  drawing- 

[124] 


A  PAINFUL  RETURN  HOME 

room,  overcome  with  grief.  She  could  not  kiss  me, 
there  was  so  much  clotted  blood  on  my  face. 

She  had  begun  to  question  me,  anxiously,  when 
my  mother,  who  had  taken  the  donkey  to  the  stable 
followed  by  Arthemise,  came  like  a  bomb  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  began  again  the  eternal  "  fam- 
ily drama "  so  angrily  that  the  quarrel  became 
more  and  more  passionate.  Finally  I,  crying  in 
despair,  was  taken  with  a  nose-bleeding,  which  my 
handkerchief,  already  saturated  with  blood,  could 
not  stanch,  and  I  was  literally  covered  with  blood. 

I  could  understand  nothing  of  my  mother's  and 
grandmother's  explanations,  they  were  so  mixed 
up,  and,  besides,  my  head  was  aching  so  badly. 

I  had  certainly  done  wrong  to  say  what  I  had 
said,  and  I  felt  myself  miserably  guilty,  but  be- 
cause of  the  thoughtless  words  of  a  child,  did  I 
deserve  to  be  left  in  such  a  state? 

"  So,"  said  my  mother,  "  you  have  promised  to 
give  Juliette  as  large  a  dot  as  you  can,  and,  doubt- 
less, your  fortune  also?  Am  I,  then,  absolutely 
nothing  to  you?  Do  you  disown  me,  your  own 
daughter?  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  your  money,  but 
the  humiliation  of  being  treated  thus  by  you  is 
something  I  will  not  bear." 

When  I  think  of  my  distress  during  those  not- 
to-be-forgotten  minutes,  I  still  feel  the  effect  of 
[125] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

it,  so  convulsed  was  I  in  all  my  being,  and  so  keenly 
did  I  realise  my  mother's  cruel  jealousy. 

My  grandfather  appeared  at  one  door,  Arthe- 
mise  at  the  other.  He  looked  at  me,  listened  for 
a  moment,  and  understood  what  was  taking  place. 
I  threw  myself  in  his  arms,  crying,  my  face  bloat- 
ed, swollen,  and  bleeding,  in  such  a  misery  of  aban- 
donment and  feeling  so  forsaken  that  my  grand- 
father's heart  was  convulsed  with  pain. 

"  You  are,  each  of  you,  madder,  more  wicked, 
more  ferocious  than  the  other,"  he  cried,  in  a 
furious  voice.  "  Your  quarrels,  your  suspicions, 
your  idiotic,  imbecile  explanations  crush  every 
atom  of  maternal  feeling  in  your  hearts.  You 
will  kill  the  child,  do  you  hear?  you  will  kill  her! 
Olympe,  do  you  not  remember  that  your  son  died 
of  convulsions  after  one  of  your  quarrels?  Look, 
both  of  you,  at  your  only  child.  Don't  you  feel 
any  pity  for  her,  shrews  that  you  are?  And  then 
you  will  dare  say  to  me  that  you  love  Juliette !  I 
have  half  a  mind  to  take  her  from  you  both,  and 
to  fly  with  her  to  the  ends  of  the  world.  Just 
look  at  her !  " 

And  grandfather,  who  was  fond  of  dramatic 
scenes  himself,  placed  me  standing  on  a  chair.  My 
sobs  redoubled,  and  I  must  have  been  pitiful  to 
see,  for  my  mother  and  grandmother  threw  them- 

[126] 


A  PAINFUL  RETURN  HOME 

selves  upon  me,  frightened.  Grandfather  pushed 
them  aside,  and  put  me  in  Arthemise's  arms,  who 
again  began  her  song :  "  It  is  murder !  " 

This  phrase  made  me  remember,  with  singular 
clearness,  my  adventure  at  school,  and  I  cried  out 
to  grandmother: 

"  This  time  I  will  never  forgive  you ! "  My 
lips  trembled,  my  throat  was  on  fire,  and  I  was 
shivering. 

While  grandfather  washed  me,  grandmother 
made  up  the  fire,  weeping.  When  I  was  warmed 
and  calmed,  my  grandfather,  with  an  anger  and 
hardness  I  had  never  seen  him  show  before,  flew  at 
my  mother,  seized  her  by  the  wrists,  and,  shaking 
her,  said: 

"  It  is  not  enough  that  her  father  and  grand- 
mother should  over-excite  this  child's  brain  enough 
to  make  it  burst,  but  you  must  go  and  give  her 
such  a  cerebral  commotion  that  it  is  enough  to 
make  her  crazy." 

And  as  my  mother,  in  excusing  herself,  began 
again  to  accuse  me 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  take  care ! "  cried 
grandfather,  in  a  threatening  voice.  "  I  thought 
until  to-day  that  you  resembled  my  poor  mother, 
too  passive  and  too  '  browsing.'  Don't  recall  my 
father  to  me  by  your  ferocious  liard-heartedness ! 
[127] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

If  you  go  on  like  this,  I  will  make  you  kneel  and 
ask  your  daughter's  pardon." 

"  You  are  breaking  my  wrists,"  she  said,  "  let 
go  of  me.  I  have  the  right " 

I  thought  then  that  grandfather  was  going  to 
beat  her.  His  voice  became  so  terrible  that  I  saw 
my  grandmother  tremble. 

"  Do  you  repent  of  the  wrong  you  have  done 
to  your  daughter?  " 

"  Yes ! "  she  said,  falling  on  a  chair,  overcome 
by  her  father,  whom  alone  she  feared,  and  who 
was  never  violent,  never  showed  firmness  except  to 
her. 

Poor  mother !  she  suffered,  herself,  to  such  a  de- 
gree from  her  morbid  passion  of  jealousy  that, 
when  she  was  stricken  with  paralysis  and  confided 
her  mental  tortures  to  us,  we  heartily  forgave  her 
for  those  fits  of  anger. 


[128] 


XII 

A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

WAS  ailing  all  winter.  I  had  attacks  of 
intermittent  fever,  followed  by  the  measles, 
with  delirium. 

My  father  and  mother  came  in  turn  to  help  my 
grandparents  take  care  of  me.  For  a  week  they 
all  feared  not  only  for  my  life,  but  for  my  sanity 
— fears  which  re-established  for  a  while  perfect  ac- 
cord between  them. 

My  father,  talking  one  day  at  my  bedside  to 
grandmother,  who  was  accusing  her  daughter  of 
being  responsible  for  my  illness,  said: 

"  It  seems  to  me,  mother,  that  you,  too,  deserve 
reproach  in  this  respect,  from  what  my  father-in- 
law  tells  me.  As  to  Olympe,  I  assure  you  she  is 
more  unhappy  from  her  suspicions  than  those  whom 
she  suspects.  Her  jealousy  is  not  her  own  fault; 
it  is  a  malady.  If  you  will  look  at  her  during  her 
fits  of  anger,  you  will  see  that  she  has  already 
certain  tremblings  of  her  head,  too  characteristic, 
alas!  Do  not  forget  that  her  paternal  grand- 
father died  of  paralysis,  which  is,  perhaps,  the 
explanation  of  her  unconscious  cruelties.  You 
10  [  129  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

must  take  care  of  Olympe,  mother,  rather  than 
blame  her.  I,  also,  have  a  great  defect  in  being 
too  violent,  and  it  comes  to  me  from  an  affection 
of  my  heart,  an  inheritance  from  my  father." 

My  father  expressed  these  words  so  gently,  so 
sadly,  that  I  at  once  forgave  my  mother,  with 
whom  I  had  until  that  moment  still  been  angry, 
and  I  was  most  unhappy  to  hear  that  my  father 
had  a  disease  of  the  heart. 

During  my  delirium  my  grandfather  had  no 
difficulty  in  discovering  the  cause  of  the  tension 
of  my  little  brain,  overheated  by  the  struggle  to 
understand  the  contradictions  between  my  father's 
and  grandmother's  ideas.  I  was  endeavouring 
with  all  my  might  to  make  the  ideas  agree,  and 
could  not  succeed,  which  tormented  me.  In  my 
fever  I  did  nothing  but  talk  of  politics  and 
socialism. 

"  She  must  escape  from  both  of  you  for  a  time," 
he  said  to  my  father  and  grandmother,  "  and  I  am 
going  to  accept  her  great-aunt's  invitation  to  her." 

My  grandmother's  half-sisters,  Sophie,  Con- 
stance, and  Anastasie,  lived  with  her  mother  at 
a  country-seat  in  the  environs  of  Soissons,  at 
Chivres.  They  led  a  monastic  life,  having,  all 
three,  refused  to  marry. 

Since  their  father's  death  they  had,  no  one  knew 
[130] 


A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

why,  desired  to  know  me,  and  this  seemed  all  the 
more  extraordinary  to  my  grandparents  because 
they  had  never  taken  any  interest  in  my  mother. 

A  friend  of  my  grandmother's  having  spoken  to 
them  about  me,  they  said  to  this  friend  that  if 
grandmother  desired  me  to  be  their  heiress,  instead 
of  one  of  their  mother's  cousins,  to  whom  they  were 
somewhat  attached,  she  must  let  me  go  and  visit 
them  alone  every  year  during  the  vacation  season, 
in  July  and  August. 

My  grandfather  said  to  himself  that  such  a  com- 
plete separation  from  my  father  and  grandmother 
would  put  my  brain  "  out  to  grass,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  and  would  do  me  immense  good.  He  induced 
grandmother  to  write  to  her  friend  that  she  would 
send  me  at  that  time  to  visit  my  great-aunts. 

The  prospect  did  not  please  me  at  first.  I  was 
so  weary,  so  weak,  that  I  asked  only  to  be  allowed 
to  dream,  lying  in  the  large  drawing-room  beside 
grandmother,  who  read  or  embroidered  without 
speaking  to  me. 

My  brain  was  hard  at  work  during  my  con- 
valescence. It  appeared  to  me  that  I  was  making 
a  great  journey  in  life,  and  that  I  discovered  many 
new  and  serious  things  every  day. 

I  had  taken  no  interest  in  money  affairs  until 
then,  except  for  the  purchase  of  my  sugar-plums. 
[131] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

But  was  it  not  money  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
the  great  quarrel  on  my  return  from  Blerancourt? 
Was  money,  therefore,  a  very  great,  very  impor- 
tant thing?  And  now,  again,  I  heard  it  spoken 
of  apropos  of  these  aunts  for  whom  my  grand- 
parents cared  so  little,  and  of  whom  they  thought 
so  ill. 

This  money,  which  had  made  my  mother  so  cruel 
to  me,  was  now  going  to  make  my  grandparents 
more  kind  to  my  great-aunts. 

I  discussed  these  questions  very  naively  with 
myself,  although  my  mind  was  wide  awake  with 
regard  to  other  things;  but  there  was  never  any 
question  of  money  affairs  between  my  grandfather 
and  grandmother.  My  grandfather  kept  his  own 
accounts  with  his  patients;  my  grandmother  took 
care  of  her  own  fortune. 

I  questioned  grandmother  about  the  necessity  of 
my  being  my  aunts'  heiress,  asking  her  why  she 
considered  it  so  important  that  I  should  have 
money. 

"  It  is  not  for  the  money  itself,"  grandmother 
answered,  "  that  your  grandfather  and  I  desire 
that  you  should  be  your  aunts'  heiress,  but  for  a 
certain  satisfaction  it  would  give  us,  and  because 
it  would  be  creditable  to  them.  You  know,  for  I 
have  told  you  so  several  times,  that  my  father  kept 
[132] 


A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

my  mother's  dot,  and  that  he  was  obstinate  in  mak- 
ing the  keeping  of  it  a  condition  of  my  marriage. 
If  my  half-sisters  desire  to  repair  the  wrong  they 
have  done  me,  I  approve  their  conduct;  if  my 
step-mother,  now  very  old,  wishes  to  die  without 
remorse,  I  understand  it.  That  is  why  I  desire 
that  you  should  play  a  part  in  this  scheme  of 
reconciliation,  more  worthy  of  our  family  than  the 
unworthy  machinations  of  former  times.  It  is  not 
a  question  of  money,  but  of  a  triumph  for  your 
grandfather  and  myself,  should  your  aunts  make 
you  their  heiress.  You  see,  Juliette,  there  is  noth- 
ing more  noble  than  to  repair  one's  wrong  by  a 
righteous  act.  Try  to  help  in  bringing  it  about." 

I  had  a  mission.  I  was  going  to  aid  in  the  tri- 
umph of  justice,  and  in  that  of  my  grandparents. 
I  was  still  very  weak,  incapable  of  any  great  effort, 
for  a  fever  brought  on  by  growing  pains  hindered 
the  progress  of  my  convalescence;  but  the  great 
role  of  ambassadress  extraordinary — "  something 
like  a  diplomatic  work  of  Monsieur  de  Talley- 
rand," said  grandfather,  not  mockingly,  but 
solemnly — that  was  worth  thinking  of. 

I  had,  besides,  some  experience  to  guide  me. 
How  many  times  had  I  not  reconciled  my  grand- 
father and  grandmother,  as  well  as  my  parents  at 
Blerancourt,  or  all  of  them  together?  While  still 
[133] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

very  small,  I  had  often  played  the  part  of  arbiter. 
I  gave  my  personal  opinion  on  all  matters  and  in 
all  discussions. 

I  should  probably  have  been  insupportable  had 
not  my  grandparents,  both  of  whom  were  very  gay 
and  witty,  kept  up  a  spirit  of  fun  between  us  which 
banished  all  gravity,  even  in  questions  of  quarrels, 
instead  of  preserving  a  tone  of  stiff,  solemn,  and 
stately  importance,  so  that,  when  I  succeeded  in 
hushing  up  a  quarrel  between  them,  it  was  usually 
because  I  had  made  them  laugh. 

My  father,  also,  submitted  to  this  course  of 
action  on  my  part,  but  it  exasperated  my  mother, 
who  would  always  say: 

"  I  will  never  admit  that  a  joke  should  get  the 
better  of  a  grief." 

Might  it  not  be  probable  that  my  great-aunts 
would  resemble  my  mother  in  character?  Ah!  in 
that  case  I  would  resign  my  mission  very  quickly, 
so  much  the  worse  for  the  inheritance!  I  would 
write  at  once  to  be  taken  home. 

"  My  sisters  cannot  be  dull,"  grandmother  said 
to  me.  "  Having  remained  unmarried,  they  cer- 
tainly must  have  kept  their  original  characters." 

The  great  day  for  my  departure  for  Chivres 
arrived.  What  an  excitement,  to  be  going  to  pass 
two  months  away  from  my  father  and  grand- 
[134] 


A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

mother,  and  with  old  people  whom  I  had  never 
seen,  and  on  whom  I  must  make  a  favourable  im- 
pression, "  or  else  suffer  the  humiliation  of  being 
sent  home,"  said  grandfather. 

I  was  going  to  be  shut  up  in  a  sort  of  cloister. 
My  three  great-aunts,  their  mother,  and  a  servant 
whom  they  had  had  for  twenty-five  years,  lived 
alone  in  an  old  house,  situated  in  an  enormous  do- 
main surrounded  by  high  hedges  and  walls.  This 
was  the  description  my  great-aunts'  friend  gave  to 
us  of  "  the  convent." 

My  grandfather  was  to  take  me,  with  my  pack- 
ages sewed  up  by  Arthemise,  as  far  as  two  leagues 
beyond  Coucy-le-Chateau.  Grandmother  told  me 
to  look  well  at  "  the  monstrous  feudal  towers  of 
Coucy."  Marguerite,  my  aunts'  servant,  would 
await  us  at  the  village,  her  native  place,  at  her 
mother's  house  on  the  Square  opposite  a  cross. 
She  would  meet  me  there  with  my  aunts'  donkey. 
I  was  to  dine  at  her  mother's  cottage,  after  which 
we  would  leave  Coucy,  taking  cross-roads,  and 
would  arrive  at  Chivres  late  at  night. 

I  had  been  much  sermonised  by  grandmother  be- 
fore I  left,  and  on  our  way  grandfather  continu- 
ally joked  me  about  my  "  mission  a  la  Talleyrand" 

"  Your  old  aunts  must  die  of  ennui,"  he  said  to 
me ;  "  you  will  amuse  them,  and  they  won't  return 
[135] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

the  compliment,  if  I  remember  them  rightly. 
Sophie  will  teach  you  Latin,  she  knows  it  very 
'well;  you  will  use  some  of  it  with  Marguerite  in 
the  kitchen,  perhaps  also  with  the  donkey,  and 
you  must  bring  back  to  me  what  remains  of  it. 
Mind  you  don't  forget,  for  I  have  great  need 
of  it." 

Grandfather  left  his  carriage  at  the  entrance 
of  the  village,  at  the  only  inn  of  the  place,  and 
as  we  walked  along  he  continued  his  jokes. 

I  laughed  so  at  all  the  nonsense  he  said  to  me 
that,  when  I  saw  Marguerite  and  the  donkey  to 
which  I  was  to  talk  Latin,  I  forgot  to  cry. 

Grandfather  kissed  me  quickly,  more  overcome 
than  myself.  After  giving  Marguerite  instruc- 
tions concerning  my  health,  and  the  care  to  be 
taken  of  me,  he  handed  her  a  complimentary  note 
for  my  aunts,  and  then  flew  off  so  rapidly  towards 
the  entrance  of  the  village  where  he  had  put  up 
his  carriage,  that  when  I  turned,  after  caressing 
the  donkey,  I  saw  no  sign  of  him. 

We  were  to  have  gone  to  the  inn,  on  leaving  the 
village,  to  get  my  packages  to  put  on  the  donkey, 
which  had  a  basket  hung  on  his  saddle,  but  a  ser- 
vant from  the  inn  brought  them  to  us. 

My  heart  was  a  little  heavy  at  this  sudden  sep- 
aration, but  my  stomach  was  very  empty,  and  I 
[136] 


A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

ate  with  a  good  appetite  for  the  first  time  in  many 
weeks. 

Marguerite's  mother  had  announced  my  passage 
to  the  whole  country-side;  all  the  urchins  of  the 
place  were  grouped  around  the  cross.  I  smiled  at 
the  little  girls  and  boys,  who  followed  me  into  the 
house  to  see  the  "  young  Miss  "  who  looked  like  a 
little  "  Parisienne." 

My  way  of  speaking,  which  had  no  Picardy  ac- 
cent, struck  them  all.  Neither  my  grandfather, 
who  was  from  Compiegne,  nor  my  grandmother, 
which  was  more  extraordinary  still,  had  the  least 
patois  accent. 

The  little  chits  gathered  around  the  long  oaken 
table  at  which  I  was  eating,  and  made  me  talk  by 
asking  questions.  I  had  brought  with  me  some 
sugar-plums,  a  necessary  cargo  for  a  great  jour- 
ney to  an  unknown  country.  I  distributed  my 
sugar-plums  with  the  greatest  success.  I  drank 
to  the  health  of  the  troop,  who  had  cried :  "  Vive ! 
the  young  Miss !  "  and,  a  little  intoxicated  with 
the  bracing  air,  I  half  remember  having  made  a 
speech  to  the  young  people,  a  very  moral  one,  con- 
cluding by  saying  one  could  never  love  one's  grand- 
father and  grandmother  enough,  or  one's  father 
and  mother. 

"  Why  is  it  that  you  don't  say  first  that  we 
[137] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

should  love  our  mother  and  father?  "  asked  one  of 
the  little  peasants. 

"  Oh !  that's  as  you  like,"  I  answered,  thinking 
it  would  require  too  many  explanations  to  be  un- 
derstood. 

Marguerite,  who  took  a  fancy  to  me  at  once, 
had  her  share  in  my  success.  The  "  young  Miss  " 
already  belonged  to  her. 

I  mounted  Roussot,  who  intoned  at  his  departure 
a  song  so  odd  for  a  donkey,  with  such  a  ludicrous 
search  for  harmony,  that  I  began  to  imitate  him, 
which  encouraged  him  to  continue. 

My  new  friends,  the  children,  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. They  followed  me  for  a  long  way,  and,  on 
the  thresholds  of  the  houses  and  huts,  which  became 
farther  and  farther  apart,  their  mothers  saluted 
me,  waving  their  hands,  wishing  Marguerite  and 
her  "  young  Miss  "  a  good  journey. 

I  tasted  the  sweets  of  popularity.  It  was  due 
to  my  sugar-plums,  to  my  Parisian  accent,  and  to 
my  perfect  imitation  of  the  donkey's  bray. 

Marguerite  made  me  think  of  Arthemise.  She 
was  full  of  admiration  for  everything  I  did,  for 
all  that  I  said.  She  answered  all  my  questions  with 
the  desire  to  please  me,  she  said. 

Roussot  found  me  a  light  weight.  He  trotted 
along  briskly,  while  Marguerite,  holding  the  bridle, 
[138] 


A  VISIT  TO  MY  GREAT-AUNTS 

walked  beside  us  with  long  strides.  I  thought  the 
sunset  was  beautiful;  it  shone  over  an  immense 
plain,  inundating  it  with  its  rays,  and  its  reflection 
illuminated  the  sky  long  after  it  had  set. 

We  journeyed  on  under  the  brilliant  stars,  not 
along  a  straight  road,  for  we  took  many  turnings, 
which  by  degrees  brought  us  near  to  Chivres. 

The  rolling  country  was  so  pretty  that  it  pleased 
me  exceedingly,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  gather 
all  the  flowers  which  a  bright  moon  showed  me 
along  the  sides  of  the  road. 

"  There  are  flowers  in  plenty  in  the  close, 
Mam'zelle  Juliette,"  said  Marguerite.  "  There 
are  bachelors'  buttons  and  poppies  in  the  wheat, 
and  daisies  around  the  wash-house;  you  shall  pick 
as  many  as  you  like.  You  are  not  so  cityfied,  after 
all,  if  you  love  the  beautiful  things  in  the  fields." 


[139] 


XIII 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 

three  aunts  and  my  grandmother's  step- 
mother, whom  I  afterwards  called  great- 
grandmother,  appeared  before  me,  standing  to- 
gether on  the  steps,  as  soon  as  the  front  door  was 
opened.  For  a  moment  I  stood  aghast,  for  my 
grandmother's  three  sisters,  unlike  her,  who  always 
wore  such  handsome  gowns,  were  dressed  as  peas- 
ants, just  like  their  maid  Marguerite,  in  cotton 
jackets,  cotton  skirts  gathered  full  around  the 
hips,  cotton  kerchiefs,  large  grey  linen-aprons  with 
pockets,  and  they  wore  caps  on  their  heads ! 

The  youngest  of  them,  aunt  Anastasie,  cried 
out,  "  Good-evening,  niece !  and  welcome  here !  "  in 
a  clear,  gay  voice,  and  with  the  pretty  accent  of 
Soissons,  the  native  place  of  her  mother,  who  had 
returned  thither  with  her  husband,  and  from  whom 
she  had  inherited  it,  doubtless.  Marguerite  took 
me  off  the  donkey.  My  two  other  aunts  and  my 
"  great-grandmother "  had  such  high-bred  man- 
ners that  I  concluded  they  must  have  disguised 
themselves  to  amuse  me. 

I  went  indoors,  while  Roussot  was  led  off  to  the 
[140] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


stable,  braying  loudly,  I  accompanying  his  song, 
which  sent  my  aunts  into  fits  of  laughter. 

The  ice  was  broken;  I  had  my  supper,  I  chat- 
tered, and  then  fell  asleep.  It  was  about  eleven 
o'clock  at  night. 

At  noon  the  next  day  I  was  still  sleeping,  and 
aunt  Anastasie  became  frightened,  and  awakened 
me.  They  had  been  waiting  an  hour  for  break- 
fast. 

Marguerite  appeared,  a  parcel  of  clothes  in  her 
arms,  and  said  to  me: 

"  Now,  Mam'zelle  Juliette,  you  must  dress  as  a 
peasant.  We  will  put  all  your  fine  clothes  away 
in  a  cupboard,  and  then  you  can  enjoy  yourself 
without  fear  of  spoiling  anything." 

So  I  tried  on  jackets  and  skirts  belonging  to 
aunt  Anastasie,  who  was  the  most  coquettish  of 
the  three!  And  such  coquettishness !  Coarse 
print  gowns,  faded,  and  washed  out;  and  the  old- 
fashioned  patterns  of  them  all,  and  the  way  they 
were  cut!  I  was  at  last  equipped  in  a  horrible 
fashion.  The  skirt,  being  too  long,  was  pulled 
over  the  waist-band,  and  bulged  out  all  around  my 
waist;  the  apron,  rolled  up  in  the  same  way,  came 
nearly  up  to  my  chin.  I  pulled  the  sleeves  up 
above  my  elbows.  My  cap  I  pushed  back  as  they 
wear  them  in  Bordeaux,  so  that  it  just  rested  on 
my  long,  braided  hair. 

[141] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

It  was  too  funny !  I  nearly  fell  over  from  a 
chair  on  which  I  had  climbed  to  look  at  myself  in 
a  mirror.  I  screamed  with  laughter,  for  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe  how  absurdly  I  looked  thus 
transformed.  Grandmother  would  have  cried  out 
in  holy  horror — she  who  was  scandalised  if  my 
dress  was  a  little  soiled,  or  my  hair  "  a  la  quatre- 
six-deux,"  as  she  would  say. 

I  entered  the  dining-room  with  complete  success. 
I  did  not  know  where  to  place  my  elbows,  because 
the  rolls  of  my  skirt  quite  covered  my  hips.  I  was 
forced  to  raise  my  shoulders,  and  great-grand- 
mother, after  much  laughter,  declared  that,  when 
breakfast  was  over,  the  hem  of  the  skirt  must  be 
cut  off  and  the  skirt  made  shorter,  and  all  the  rolls 
taken  away,  as  they  deformed  my  shoulders,  and 
might  make  me  a  hunchback. 

"  I  will  look  droll  as  much  as  you  like,  dear, 
adorably  rustic  aunts,  but  not  hunchback,"  said  I. 

I  was  less  of  a  child  than  these  five  women,  in- 
cluding Marguerite,  who  ate  at  the  same  table  with 
us.  They  were  interested  in  little  nothings;  my 
manner  of  talking,  my  funny  ways,  my  assurance 
and  important  air  were  taken  in  earnest  whenever 
any  "  great  questions  "  were  discussed.  My  aunts 
were  delighted  to  feel  their  minds  in  constant  move- 
ment under  my  impulsion. 

[142] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


Monsieur  de  Talleyrand  had  found  his  equal, 
and  I  thought  how  in  my  turn  I  could  chaff  grand- 
father. 

After  breakfast  I  went  out  into  the  garden  with 
aunt  Constance,  and  no  sooner  was  I  on  the  steps 
than  I  saw  Roussot  coming  along  for  his  daily 
piece  of  bread,  his  "  tit-bit,"  as  we  used  to  say. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  me  he  began  to  bray,  and  I  an- 
swered. Outside  the  gate  we  heard  the  village 
children  laughing  at  Roussot's  extraordinary 
music,  answered  by  another  song. 

I  went  to  visit  the  donkey-stable,  Roussot  fol- 
lowing. He  seemed  quite  at  home  in  it,  walking 
about  and  showing  us  around.  Then  I  went  to 
the  poultry-yard,  and  saw  the  cow  and  her  little 
calf,  the  rabbits,  the  ducks,  the  fruit-storehouse, 
the  cellar,  and  the  large  garden.  It  was  so  large 
that  it  took  me  a  long  while  to  look,  one  by  one, 
at  all  the  fruit-trees,  laden  with  fruit,  and  to 
discover  at  the  end  a  nice  little  covered  wash- 
house,  in  which  I  promised  myself  I  would  often 
dabble. 

I  came  back  after  a  while,  and  little  aunt 
Anastasie — she  alone  in  my  mind  deserved  this  en- 
dearing epithet — showed  me  the  lovely  flowers  she 
had  made  during  the  winter  to  trim  the  altar,  which 
was  always  raised  in  the  garden,  on  Corpus  Christi 
[143] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Day,  and  was  admired  by  the  whole  country-side. 
The  large  gate  was  opened  wide  only  on  that  day. 

Aunt  Sophie  showed  me  her  room,  which  she  al- 
ways cleaned  herself,  and  into  which  not  one  of 
the  household,  still  less  an  outsider,  not  even  Mar- 
guerite, was  ever  admitted. 

To  see  me  in  aunt  Sophie's  room  seemed  an  ex- 
traordinary and  astonishing  event,  and  the  whole 
bee-hive  was  in  commotion.  Marguerite  told  me 
afterwards  of  the  sensation  created  by  my  hour's 
stay  in  aunt  Sophie's  room. 

Her  room  was  much  more  elegantly  furnished 
than  our  rooms  at  Chauny,  only  the  walls  were 
simply  whitewashed.  Opposite  each  other  stood 
two  old  chests  of  drawers  with  fine,  highly  polished 
brass  ornaments;  on  the  other  side  of  the  room 
stood  a  very  handsome  bed  of  carved  wood,  with- 
out curtains,  but  covered  with  a  pale-green  cover- 
let embroidered  in  fine  wools,  the  design  of  which 
formed  large  bouquets  of  shaded  roses,  surrounded 
with  dark-green  foliage,  which  pleased  me  so  much 
that  when  I  left  she  made  me  a  present  of  it. 

The  two  large  windows  were  draped  with  small 
pink  and  green  muslin  curtains,  trimmed  with 
guipure,  and  sliding  on  rods.  There  were  books 
on  shelves  and  on  the  chests  of  drawers,  and  on  a 
very  handsome  consol  table  were  several  vases  filled 
[144] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


with  field-flowers,  so  artistically  arranged  that  I 
at  once  said  to  aunt  Sophie : 

"  You  will  teach  me,  won't  you,  how  to  make 
these  lovely  bouquets  of  field-flowers  ?  " 

A  large  tree  in  the  garden  outside  threw  a  cool 
shade  in  the  room ;  near  one  window  stood  a  table, 
on  which  were  scattered,  in  graceful  disorder, 
books,  papers,  a  bowl  of  flowers;  and  everything, 
in  fact,  that  was  needful  to  study,  to  read,  and  to 
write  in  quiet,  and  amid  pretty  surroundings. 

I  thought  of  grandfather's  speech: 

"  Your  aunt  Sophie  will  teach  you  Latin,  which 
you  can  afterwards  translate  to  Marguerite,  to  the 
donkey,"  etc. 

"  Is  it  true,  auntie,  that  you  read  Latin  books?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Oh !  yes." 

"  Does  it  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  Very  much." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  one." 

She  showed  me  a  pretty  little  old  book  with  gilt 
edges,  which  enchanted  me,  and  told  me  that  it 
was  Virgil's  "  Bucolics."  She  read  me  a  passage 
and  translated  it,  and  I  said  to  her: 

"  Why,  it  is  just  like  the  stories  of  old  Homer, 
which  papa  tells  so  well.  In  the  seventh  canto  of 
the  Odyssey,  old  Homer,  in  speaking  of  the  four- 
11  [  145  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

acre  garden  of  Alcynous,  enumerates  the  fine  trees 
which  yield  such  beautiful  fruit,  and  which  Ulysses 
so  admires.  Your  Virgil  is  like  my  Homer,  but 
he  is  not  so  old." 

Aunt  Sophie  kissed  me. 

"  Why !  do  you  know  Homer  ?  Do  you  love  him, 
and  like  to  talk  of  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  do,  aunt  Sophie ;  that  and  the 
history  of  our  France  are  my  favourite  studies. 
Whenever  papa  comes  to  Chauny  he  recites  to  me 
a  new  canto  of  the  *  Iliad,'  or  the  *  Odyssey.'  I 
make  him  begin  over  .again  those  I  like  the  best. 
You  can  question  me,  aunt  Sophie;  I  know  the 
names  of  all  the  gods  and  the  heroes  of  Greece. 
Ancient  Greece  and  ancient  Gaul  are  my  two  pas- 
sions. But  I  shall  not  like  your  Latin.  I  hate  the 
Romans,  whose  greatest  man  was  Caesar;  he  put 
out  the  eyes  of  our  Vercingetorix ;  the  Romans 
pillaged  Greece  and  then " 

"  We  shall  get  on  very  well,  Juliette,"  said  aunt 
Sophie,  "  and  I  will  teach  you  to  love  Virgil,  who 
is  the  most  Greek  of  the  Latin  poets.  I  will  teach 
you,  as  he  has  taught  me,  to  love  Nature,  and  to 
find  pleasure  in  a  country  life.  I  will  repeat  to 
you  the  cantos  of  the  '  ^Enei'd,'  as  your  father  has 
told  you  those  of  Homer." 

"  But,  aunt  Sophie,  I  am  not  so  ignorant  as  you 

[146] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


suppose.  Papa  has  taught  me  to  know  and  to 
love  Nature.  I  will  love  it  with  you,  but  not  with 
your  Latins.  I  cannot  bear  them." 

During  the  next  few  days  the  chief  thought  of 
my  great-grandmother,  of  aunt  Constance,  and 
aunt  Anastasie,  was  to  know  what  aunt  Sophie 
had  said  to  me,  and  what  her  room  was  like.  Mar- 
guerite even  questioned  me. 

On  leaving  her  room,  aunt  Sophie  had  followed 
me  into  the  dining-room;  then,  having  taken  her 
mother  into  the  drawing-room,  which  was  up  a  few 
steps,  and  seated  her  near  the  large  window,  out  of 
which  she  could  see  the  field  and  her  daughters 
at  their  work,  she  gave  her  a  trumpet  to  call  us 
in  case  of  need,  and  then  said  to  us  all : 

"  To  work !  " 

A  skirt,  shortened  by  aunt  Constance,  was  put 
on  me,  and  each  of  us,  with  a  sickle  in  our  hands, 
proceeded  to  cut  fresh  grass  and  clover  for  the 
cow  and  for  Roussot. 

My  aunts  showed  me  how  to  use  my  sickle,  and 
I  was  really  not  too  awkward.  Marguerite  made 
small  heaps  of  the  grass  we  cut,  and  carried  them 
to  the  stable  in  a  little  low-wheeled  cart,  which  she 
drew  herself. 

They  made  me  wear  my  cap  more  forward,  and 
I  overheard  my  aunts,  who  were  already  dear  to 
[147] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

me,  discussing  a  book  which  they  were  in  turn  read- 
ing aloud  in  the  evenings.  It  seemed  to  number 
many  volumes,  for  they  had  been  reading  it  for  the 
last  eight  months,  and  still  it  was  not  yet  finished. 
I  asked  aunt  Constance  the  name  of  the  book,  and 
she  told  me  that  it  was  "  The  History  of  the  Italian 
Republics,"  by  Sismondi. 

My  aunts  spoke  so  clearly  of  things,  in  such 
simple  language,  their  ideas,  clearly  and  precisely 
expressed,  were  so  easily  comprehensible  to  me  that 
I  became  much  interested  in  their  conversations. 

I  can  see  them  now,  on  their  knees,  cutting 
clover,  and  judging  of  facts,  of  actions,  of  ideas 
of  men  in  a  way  that  kept  my  curiosity  on  the 
alert.  The  conversation  was  about  Savonarola,  a 
sonorous  name  that  at  once  struck  my  memory,  and 
of  his  mad  attempts  to  transform  society.  Many 
of  Savonarola's  ideas  resembled  my  father's,  but  I 
did  not  dare  to  say  so,  nor  to  uphold  any  prin- 
ciples contrary  to  those  which  my  aunts  seemed  to 
defend.  I  might,  perhaps,  do  so  at  some  later 
time.  I  could  already  have  said  my  say  in  this 
conversation  had  I  wished,  and  I  was  inwardly 
grateful  to  my  father  for  having  opened  my  mind 
to  the  comprehension  of  politics. 

So,  while  cutting  away  at  my  clover,  I  thought 
what  true  ladies,  clever  and  cultivated,  were  my 
[148] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


aunts  under  their  peasant  garb.  They  looked  as 
if  they  wore  a  disguise,  but  the  expression  of  their 
faces,  their  way  of  speaking,  and  all  their  gestures, 
were  distinguished  and  elegant. 

"  We  are  boring  this  child ;  she  is  cutting  the 
clover  as  hard  as  she  can  so  as  not  to  fall  asleep," 
said  Anastasie. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  auntie,"  I  answered,  "  I  am 
listening.  Papa  wants  to  make  a  Republican  of 
me,  grandmother  is  determined  that  I  shall  be  a 
Royalist,  and  grandfather  tries  all  the  time  to 
make  me  love  his  Emperor.  So  I  am  delighted 
to  hear  about  the  Italian  Republics.  I  learn 
things  I  never  knew  before,  and  I  love  to  be  in- 
structed." 

Aunt  Constance  was  the  only  one  who  would  not 
use  the  "  thee  "  and  "  thou  "  to  me.  She  was  very 
witty  and  quizzical,  her  eyes  and  lips  expressed 
great  fun,  and  she  pretended  in  a  laughing  way 
to  have  an  exaggerated  respect  for  my  very  youth- 
ful self. 

"  You  are  a  young  lady  like  few  others,  I  must 
confess,"  said  aunt  Constance,  suddenly  laying 
her  sickle  down  by  her  side. 

Marguerite  came  past  them  and  said  that  suf- 
ficient clover  was  cut.  My  aunts  and  I  went  to 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  when  we  were  all  seated  side 
[149] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

by  side  in  the  shade,  I  answered  aunt  Constance 
in  the  same  tone  she  had  taken : 

"  I  am,  indeed,  a  young  lady  like  few  others, 
and  this  is  not  the  end  of  my  being  so.  I  promise 
you,  auntie,  that  I  do  not  mean  to  stop  half-way." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  asked  aunt 
Sophie. 

"  You  can  easily  understand,"  I  answered,  in  a 
serious,  grave,  mysterious  tone — for  I  felt  that  I 
must  initiate  my  dear  great-aunts  in  my  secret 
thoughts,  that  they  were  worthy  of  my  confidence, 
and  that  I  could  repeat  to  them  what  my  grand- 
mother was  always  saying  to  me — "you  can  easily 
understand  that  I  am  not  going  to  live  all  my 
life  at  Chauny,  that  I  shall  go  to  Paris  and  become 
a  woman  unlike  everyone  else." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  a  celebrity,  dear?  "  asked 
aunt  Sophie. 

"  How  long  a  time  do  you  propose  to  take  be- 
fore you  render  your  family  illustrious  ?  "  asked 
aunt  Constance. 

"  Forty  years,"  I  replied. 

Aunt  Constance  and  aunt  Anastasie  burst  out 
laughing  at  my  answer. 

Marguerite,  leaning  on  her  little  cart,  was  lis- 
tening, open-mouthed.  "  It  is  just  possible  that  it 
may  be,"  she  said. 

[150] 


I  MAKE  NEW  FRIENDS 


"  Well,  Juliette,  I  promise  you  I  will  live 
to  see  it,"  said  aunt  Sophie,  solemnly  and 
seriously.* 

*My  three  aunts  all  lived  till  past  eighty  years  of  age. 
Anastasie,  the  youngest,  said  to  me  in  her  last  illness :  "My 
niece,  pray  do  not  defend  me  from  death.  I  do  not  like  your 
epoch." 


[151] 


XIV 

SOME    NEW    IMPRESSIONS    GAINED 

SPENT  two  full  months  at  Chivres.  I 
learned  from  Marguerite  and  aunt  Con- 
stance all  about  the  care  to  be  given  to  animals, 
all  about  fruit-trees  from  aunt  Anastasie,  who  also 
taught  me  how  to  make  very  pretty  artificial 
flowers. 

One  of  the  most  enjoyable  hours  in  the  day  was 
the  hour  when  aunt  Sophie  would  give  me  a  lesson 
in  her  room. 

I  used  to  sit  in  a  pretty  arm-chair,  painted  white 
and  covered  with  some  fresh  pink-and-green  ma- 
terial. Aunt  Sophie  was  embroiderer,  upholsterer, 
painter,  carpenter,  and  locksmith  all  in  one,  and 
it  was  she  who  had  painted  and  covered  her  arm- 
chairs, having  first  embroidered  the  material.  We 
sat  in  similar  arm-chairs,  without  our  caps,  which 
we  took  off ;  we  chatted  by  the  pretty  table  covered 
with  books  and  papers,  and  it  was  I  now  who  made 
the  lovely  nosegays  of  field-flowers. 

Aunt  Sophie  placed  before  me  a  large  sheet  of 
paper,  and  gave  me  a  pencil,  and,  every  quarter  of 
an  hour,  that  is,  four  or  five  times  during  the 
[152] 


SOME  NEW  IMPRESSIONS  GAINED 

lesson,  she  would  say :  "  Sum  up  in  a  few  words 
what  you  have  just  heard." 

It  is  to  aunt  Sophie  that  I  owe  my  tendency 
to  condense,  to  simplify,  and  to  store  in  my 
memory  a  very  closely  packed  supply  of  knowl- 
edge. 

She  would  talk  to  me,  too,  of  the  Paganism  of 
modern  times  and  of  the  danger  of  its  encroaching 
upon  divine  things.  She  would  read  me  a  short 
Latin  sentence,  repeating  the  words  several  times, 
and  making  me  say  them  over  mechanically ;  then 
she  would  explain  them  one  by  one,  making  of 
them  living  images,  so  that  I  was  delighted  with 
the  poetical  interpretations.  I  understood  every- 
thing that  she  explained  to  me.  "  Juliette,"  she 
would  say,  "  let  us  look  at  what  we  can  see  in 
things,  and  seek  for  what  is  not  visible." 

"  Oh !  auntie,  let  us  look  at  once  for  what  is 
not  seen.  I  can  find  out  for  myself,  even  away 
from  you,  what  is  visible." 

Aunt  Sophie  explained  to  me  that  life  exists 
in  everything,  even  in  what  are  called  inanimate 
things.  Every  object  had  for  her  its  own  peculiar 
voice  or  sound.  She  taught  me  to  distinguish,  with 
my  eyes  closed,  the  difference  between  the  sound 
of  wood  and  of  metal.  She  had  a  crystal  slab  on 
which  she  placed  balls  of  various  substances,  and 

[153] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

with  a  little  hammer  she  would  play  the  strangest 
airs. 

"  If  things  can  so  speak  to  us,"  she  would  say, 
"  I  am  convinced  that  flowers  look  at  us.  They 
all  have  faces  which  express  something,  and  most 
of  them  have  perfumes  which  penetrate  to  our  very 
souls.  We  can  the  more  easily  understand  what  is 
called  the  spirit  within  us,  by  smelling  the  perfume 
of  a  flower.  I  will  explain  that  to  you  more  fully 
a  few  years  hence." 

Ah!  the  fairy-like,  well-remembered  hours  I 
spent  every  morning  with  my  aunt! 

I  was  talking  to  her  one  day  about  the  wind 
and  she  said :  "  I  do  not  like  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  voice  of  the  wind  is  made  up  of 
borrowed  sounds  which  it  gathers  on  its  way. 
Wind  annoys  me,  makes  me  sad  or  puts  me  to  sleep 
just  like  those  authors  who  borrow  ideas  from 
others." 

I  feel  that  I  am  badly  expressing  all  that  my 
aunt  Sophie  told  me,  that  I  speak  less  clearly  and 
less  originally  than  she,  I  was  only  eight  years  old 
and  yet  I  understood  all  she  said.  She  must  have 
made  herself  much  clearer  than  I  can.  I  lived 
with  aunt  Sophie  a  life  of  dreams  and  a  life 
of  action  at  the  same  time.  Every  action 
[154] 


SOME  NEW  IMPRESSIONS  GAINED 

accomplished  by  me  when  near  her,  seemed  to 
have  a  fuller  significance.  If  I  watered  a  plant 
I  seemed  to  be  caring  for  it,  and  delivering  it  from 
the  horrible  pains  of  thirst;  if  I  cut  clover  with 
a  sickle,  I  seemed  to  be  receiving  a  present  from 
the  earth,  and  felt  that  I  must  be  grateful;  if  I 
plucked  a  ripe  pear,  I  was  easing  the  overloaded 
tree,  which  seemed  to  lean  and  offer  it  to  me,  and 
still  did  not  let  it  drop.  If  I  killed  any  harmful 
insect,  I  fancied  I  was  doing,  in  person,  the  work 
of  Hercules,  and  could  hear  around  me  a  kind  and 
approving  murmur. 

When  Roussot  and  I  sang  our  duet  we  were 
really  having  a  musical  discourse. 

I  could  not  stay  indoors.  The  rain-drops,  big 
and  little,  called  me  out. 

Since  my  illness,  a  very  strange  thing  had  taken 
place  in  my  young  brain.  I  fancied  that  I  had 
just  been  born  or  had  been  born  over  again. 
All  that  grandmother,  who  hated  Nature,  and 
thought  it  cruel  and  false,  had  taught  me — which 
teaching  had  been  already  greatly  counteracted 
by  my  father's  influence — had  so  entirely  dis- 
appeared from  my  mind  that  I  could  not  conceive 
how  it  had  ever  existed  there. 

All  that  grandmother  believed  in  on  this  earth 
was  love.  "  The  passion  of  loving  alone  brings 
[155] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

us  near  to  superhuman  truths,"  she  said.  "  All 
things  that  can  be  reasoned  about,  and  proved,  and 
weighed,  come  from  what  is  inert  and  material, 
and  ought  therefore  to  have  no  place  in  our  souls. 
It  is  a  kind  of  knowledge  that  may  be  left,  like 
cumbersome  luggage,  by  the  side  of  the  road,  that 
leads  us  to  the  Beyond." 

Grandmother  seemed  to  me  at  that  time  really 
to  be  the  incarnation  of  what  people  said  of  her — 
"  romantic."  I  loved  her  just  the  same  as  before ; 
I  paid  her  in  my  heart  the  same  tribute  of  affection 
I  owed  her,  and  which  she  deserved,  but  I  was  much 
more  attracted  by  the  minds  of  my  father  and  of 
aunt  Sophie,  and  felt  great  curiosity  about  them. 
I  loved  Nature  as  aunt  Sophie  loved  it,  and  I  was 
interested  in  the  past  history  of  Nature  according 
to  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and  I  suffered  with 
my  father  for  the  misery  of  mankind,  for  the 
wretchedness  of  the  poor  and  the  unfortunate  in 
life. 

"  Aunt  Sophie,"  I  asked  her  once,  "  why  is  it 
that  all  that  you  show  me  which  is  so  divine  in 
Nature,  hides  from  me  that  God  who  is  so  great 
and  so  far  off,  and  whom  grandmother  taught  me 
to  adore?  Why  is  it  that  I  care  no  longer  for 
the  sufferings  of  '  misunderstood  souls'  " — this  was 
one  of  grandmother's  sayings — "  and  that  I  care 
[156] 


SOME  NEW  IMPRESSIONS  GAINED 

a  great  deal  more  for  the  welfare  of  poor  miserable 
wretches?  " 

"  It  is  just  because  God  is  so  great  and  so  far 
off  that  you  are  too  little  to  understand  Him," 
answered  aunt  Sophie.  "  When  you  are  as  old 
as  I  am  " — she  was  forty-six  and  grandmother  a 
little  over  forty-eight — "  everything  will  find  its 
place  in  your  understanding,  especially  if  the  basis 
of  what  you  know  is  built  on  a  sure  foundation. 
You  must  be  able  to  touch  with  your  feet  the 
ground  you  walk  on.  Mother  Goose  certainly  said 
that  before  I  did.  You  must  love  intensely  all  that 
lives  while  you  live.  I  am  a  child  of  Nature;  I 
live  in  it  and  for  it.  Your  father  loves  mankind, 
and  wishes  it  to  be  happy,  because  he,  himself,  is  so 
human." 

At  Blerancourt  I  had  adopted  the  habit  of  writ- 
ing down  in  a  little  book  a  summary  of  the 
conversations  I  had  with  my  father.  Aunt  Con- 
stance, having  found  the  book  in  one  of  my 
pockets,  was  always  teasing  me  about  the  depth 
of  my  reflections.  I  let  her  laugh,  but,  when  in 
posssession  of  my  "  Notes  of  Blerancourt " 
again,  I  added  to  them  my  "  Notes  of  Chivres," 
and  the  serious  thoughts  exchanged  with  aunt 
Sophie. 

I  kept  this  little  book,  written  in  small  hand- 
[157] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

writing  which  only  I  could  read,  until  I  came  to 
Paris,  when,  to  my  great  regret,  it  was  lost,  but 
the  sense  of  what  was  therein  written  has  never  left 
my  memory. 


[158] 


I 


XV 


THE  END    OF    MY    HOLIDAY 

|ARGUERITE  was  appointed  to  show  me  the 
environs  of  Chivres.  I  put  on  my  pretty 
frock,  and  for  a  week,  the  harvest  being  over, 
seated  on  my  friend  Roussot's  back,  I  roamed  over 
the  lovely  valley  through  which  runs  the  river 
Aisne.  I  saw  the  whole  country  between  Soissons 
and  Chivres,  and  around  Chivres  itself. 

Marguerite  took  me  to  see  the  Dolmens,  the 
Druid  stones,  of  which  aunt  Sophie  had  told  me 
the  history  and  legends.  On  the  evening  when  I 
returned  from  my  visit  to  the  Dolmens,  I  refused 
to  wear  my  peasant  clothes,  and  appeared  at  table 
in  a  white  frock,  with  a  wreath  of  mistletoe  and 
laurel-leaves  on  my  head,  dressed  as  a  Druid 
priestess  of  my  Gauls. 

Grandmother  and  my  father  did  not  write  to  me 
for  fear  of  tiring  me.  Had  they  known  that  aunt 
Sophie  was  teaching  me  Latin  and  other  things 
beyond  my  age,  they  would  have  grieved  at  having 
been  parted  from  me  for  so  long  a  time  and  for 
no  benefit  to  my  health,  as  they  would  have 
thought. 

[159] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Now,  I  was  in  perfect  health  because  I  worked 
in  the  fields  for  hours  every  day;  because  I  went 
to  bed  and  got  up  early,  and  because  I  slept  alone 
in  a  large  room,  where  a  distant  window,  protected 
by  a  screen,  was  left  open  all  night ;  whereas  at 
Chauny  I  slept  in  grandmother's  room,  and  she 
had  the  habit  of  reading  in  her  bed,  by  the  light 
of  a  great  lamp,  which  she  often  forgot  to  blow 
out,  and  which  many  times  smoked  all  night. 

I  had  recovered  all  my  strength;  my  recent 
"  growing  "  fever  had  left  no  trace  whatever,  ex- 
cept a  slight  increase  added  to  my  height.  I 
looked  fully  ten  years  old,  and  was  exceedingly 
pleased  at  the  fact. 

I  was  almost  perfectly  happy.  To  the  success 
of  my  mission  this  pleasure  was  added:  that,  al- 
though I  had  been  sent  to  please  my  aunts,  it  was 
they  who  had  pleased  me. 

My  mind  was  more  at  work  during  the  time  I 
spent  with  my  beloved  relatives  than  at  any  other 
moment  of  my  life,  insomuch  that  I  asked  questions 
on  every  subject,  and  that  I  pondered  over  all  the 
"  whys  and  wherefores,"  and  all  the  answers  given 
me.  What  a  happy  holiday,  and  what  perfect  rest 
as  well ! 

Ah!  if  only  grandmother  and  my  father  were 
living  at  Chivres  with  my  aunts  and  great-grand- 
mother and  Marguerite,  not  forgetting  Roussot, 
[160] 


THE  END  OF  MY  HOLIDAY 

the  cow  and  the  calf,  etc.,  etc.,  I  should  then  be 
perfectly  happy! 

I  was  certainly  very  fond  of  grandfather,  and 
my  mother's  beauty,  as  I  looked  at  her,  effaced 
any  trace  of  unjust  scoldings  and  of  the  sadness 
I  felt  at  seeing  her  so  frequently  pain  both  my 
father  and  grandmother ;  but  I  could  not  but  think 
that  my  mother  and  grandfather  could  very  well 
live  at  Chauny  quite  contentedly,  while  my  four 
aunts,  my  great-grandmother,  Marguerite,  father, 
grandmother  and  I  would  be  so  unspeakably  happy 
living  at  Chivres. 

The  time  for  departure,  however,  drew  near.  I 
had  only  a  few  days  left.  Grandfather  had  writ- 
ten (grandmother  not  being  as  yet  in  harmony 
with  her  sisters)  that  he  would  come  for  me  on 
the  following  Monday,  at  the  same  place  where 
he  had  given  me  into  Marguerite's  care.  This  was 
Friday. 

Neither  my  aunts  nor  myself  dreamt  of  prolong- 
ing my  stay.  We  felt  that  it  might  compromise 
the  possibility  of  any  future  visits. 

At  my  age,  a  year  seemed  a  century.  With  their 
gentle  philosophy  and  their  equal  tempers,  my 
aunts  told  me  that  July  and  August  would  come 
quickly  around  again,  and  that  now  that  they 
knew  me,  they  could  both  think  of  and  talk  of  me. 

12  [ 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  You  will  leave  us  with  perhaps  more  pain  than 
we  shall  feel  at  losing  you,  Juliette,"  said  my  teas- 
ing aunt  Constance,  when  I  was  lamenting  our 
separation,  "  but  you  will  as  certainly  sooner  for- 
get the  pleasure  of  our  society  than  we  shall  forget 
the  pleasure  of  yours." 

"  You  are  naughty,"  I  answered.  "  You  know 
very  well  it  is  just  the  other  way.  Have  I  left  off 
thinking  of  my  father  and  grandmother,  and  wish- 
ing they  were  here?  I  have,  perhaps,  talked  of 
them  too  much;  well,  that  is  how  I  shall  talk  of 
you." 

Tears  were  shed  at  my  departure,  and  aunt 
Constance  was  not  the  least  sad  of  them  all;  but 
I  was  too  grieved  to  bring  it  up  to  her  notice. 

Aunt  Sophie  had  prepared  some  short  exercises 
which  she  made  me  promise  to  go  over  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  every  day.  On  every  Sunday 
I  was  to  know  seven  new  Latin  words,  without  for- 
getting a  single  one  of  those  learned  before.  I 
was  to  return  to  Chivres  with  two  hundred  and  fifty 
Latin  words  in  my  mind,  placing  them  as  I  chose, 
as  all  the  first  Latin  words  aunt  Sophie  had  taught 
me  were  words  in  common  use. 

The  day  I  showed  my  father  the  exercises  pre- 
pared for  me  by  my  aunt,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Why !  this  is  a  bright  thought !  Your  seven 
[162] 


THE  END  OF  MY  HOLIDAY 

words  put  together  have  a  general  meaning.  They 
form  a  little  story,  and  each  word  is  necessary  in 
daily  life." 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,  dear  aunts !  "  I  waved 
kisses  to  them  until  I  was  out  of  sight,  for,  a  fact 
commented  on  by  the  whole  of  Chivres,  my  three 
aunts  and  great-grandmother  were  standing  out- 
side the  big  gate,  so  as  to  watch  me  as  far  as  the 
end  of  the  village. 

Marguerite  was  crying  and  blowing  her  nose; 
Roussot  most  certainly  understood  the  situation, 
for  he  held  his  head  low  and  made  a  noise  resem- 
bling a  moan. 

I  tried  to  console  Marguerite  by  talking  fast, 
but  did  not  succeed. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done,  Mamzelle  Juliette, 
you  are  going  away,  and  I  can  think  of  nothing 
else.  The  only  thing  that  will  help  me  to  bear  it 
until  next  summer,  when  you  are  coming  back,  is 
that  now  that  the  ladies  have  told  me  that  the 
money  is  to  be  yours,  I  shall  work  harder  and  econ- 
omise more  than  ever." 

I  again  found  myself  in  full  popularity  on 
entering  Marguerite's  village.  The  whole  band 
of  children  was  waiting  for  me. 

Alas !  I  had  no  more  sugar-plums.  Why,  yes,  I 
had!  my  dear  grandfather  had  brought  me  a 

[163] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

large  parcel  of  them.  His  joy  at  seeing  me  look 
so  full  of  health  quite  touched  Marguerite.  I 
thanked  the  dear  woman  for  all  her  care  of  me, 
and  begged  her  so  warmly  to  assure  my  aunts  of 
all  my  gratitude,  that  she  said: 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  do  love  us  as  much  as 
we  love  you." 

And  she  added,  turning  to  my  grandfather: 
"  you  will  take  great  care  of  her,  Monsieur?  " 

From  Marguerite's  tone,  when  she  said  these 
words,  you  might  have  supposed  that  it  was  she 
and  my  aunts  who  were  giving  me  to  grandfather, 
and  not  he  who  was  taking  me  home. 

After  we  had  eaten  some  luncheon  at  Margue- 
rite's home,  I  kissed  and  kissed  the  old  servant,  I 
kissed  Roussot,  who  I  thought  moaned  more  sadly 
under  my  embrace,  and  jumped  into  grandfather's 
carriage. 

I  turned  around  to  look  back  as  long  as  I  could. 
Marguerite  waved  her  arms,  the  children  shouted: 
"  Come  back  soon !  "  and  Roussot  went  on  braying. 


[164] 


XVI 


AT     HOME     AGAIN 

ILL?"  asked  grandfather,  as  we  drove 
away,  "  has  everything  really  gone  off  well  ? 
Have  you  made  a  conquest  of  your  aunts  and  great- 
grandmother  ?  They  dote  on  you,  don't  they? 
Answer !  they  really  dote  on  you  ?  " 

"  Grandfather,  they  love  me  dearly ;  they  really 
do.  And  I  love  them;  you  can't  think  how  nice 
and  amusing  they  are,  and  good  and  tender,  and 
not  solemn  a  bit." 

"  But  do  you  think  they  realised  what  a  won- 
derful niece  we  sent  them  ?  " 

I  remained  unembarrassed,  being  accustomed 
from  my  earliest  days  to  the  broadest  compliments. 
I  answered  simply : 

"  Yes,  grandfather,  they  found  your  grand- 
daughter wonderful." 

"  You  must  tell  us  everything  in  detail.  Your 
grandmother  and  I  wish  to  know  all  that  happened 
hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  word  for  word,  all,  in 
fact,  and  even  what  you  thought." 

"And  dreamed?"  I  asked.     "What  an  effort 
of  memory  I  shall  have  to  make !  " 
[165] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  We  have  been  so  lonely.  Your  father  came 
once  a  week  to  talk  you  over  with  your  grand- 
mother." 

"  And  did  the  usual  *  family  drama '  happen 
every  time?  " 

"  Of  course,  but  it  always  ended  happily,  because 
when  your  father  rose  to  take  leave,  either  your 
grandmother  or  I  would  always  say :  *  Dear  me ! 
how  we  must  love  that  little  woman,  to  be  always 
quarrelling  about  her,'  and  then  we  all  said  good- 
bye with  a  laugh." 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  seriously  in  hand  the 
matter  of  reconciling  my  grandmother's  and  my 
father's  ideas  concerning  me,"  I  answered  so 
gravely  that  grandfather  began  to  laugh  mock- 
ingly. 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  he,  moving  so  suddenly  that 
he  dropped  the  reins.  When  he  had  picked  them 
up,  I  grew  angry. 

"  Who  reconciled  my  aunts  and  my  grand- 
mother, if  you  please  ?  Was  it  not  I  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  my  Emperor! "  answered  grand- 
father cracking  his  whip,  "  I  forgot  that  we  are  all 
only  simple  soldiers." 

Then  a  rain  of  amusing  jokes  began.  I  was 
seized  with  grandfather's  contagious  gaiety.  He 
laughed  so  heartily  and  unaffectedly  at  his  own 

[166] 


AT  HOME  AGAIN 


jests,  that  no  one  could  help  laughing  with 
him. 

Both  my  father  and  mother  had  come  from 
Blerancourt  to  welcome  me  on  the  evening  of  my 
return;  all  were  loud  in  admiration  of  my  tanned 
face  and  hands,  and  were  delighted  to  see  me 
plumper,  as  well  as  much  taller  and  stronger. 

My  mother,  I  suppose,  was  pleased,  although 
she  did  not  show  it  in  her  manner.  I  perceived  that 
in  her  presence  I  should  have  to  reduce  consider- 
ably the  report  of  the  success  of  my  mission,  and 
I  took  good  care  not  to  repeat  Marguerite's  say- 
ing :  "  Now  that  the  ladies  have  told  me  that  the 
money  is  to  be  yours,  I  shall  have  more  courage 
to  work  and  economise."  I  knew  from  experience 
that  it  was  best  in  any  conversation  with  my 
mother  to  leave  out  the  money  and  legacy  ques- 
tion. Marguerite's  saying  had  touched  me  only 
in  so  much  as  it  proved  her  love  and  devotion  for 
me. 

The  moon  shone  clear,  and  as  the  weather  was 
very  dry,  my  father  and  mother  did  not  fear  the 
fog  on  Manicamp  Common,  so  they  started  for 
home  that  same  evening  after  dinner,  having  ar- 
rived much  earlier  than  I. 

The  story  of  my  transformation  into  a  peasant 
the  day  after  my  arrival  at  Chivres,  of  the  way  my 
[167] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

aunts  worked  out-of-doors,  greatly  amused  my 
relatives  during  dinner.  It  was  supposed  then  they 
had  remained  cockneys,  for  at  Chauny  they  were 
always  called  "  the  fine  ladies." 

"  They  really  used  to  be  most  affected,"  said 
grandmother.  "  They  took  no  interest  in  house- 
hold matters  and  would  spend  their  time  in  the 
drawing-room,  reading,  doing  fancy-work,  and 
quarrelling  among  themselves." 

Just  then  I  made  a  most  unlucky  speech  which 
very  nearly  provoked  the  inevitable  "  drama." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  say  that  they 
have  improved  in  every  way.  They  take  part  in 
all  that  goes  on,  and  I  never  heard  a  single  quar- 
rel or  dispute  during  my  two  months'  stay ;  it  was 
a  change  for  me." 

"  You  are  really  very  amiable  to  us,"  replied 
my  mother  in  a  sharp  tone.  "  If  it  was  you  who 
brought  about  this  miracle,  you  can  repeat  it 
here,"  said  grandmother,  who  had  no  idea  of  losing 
her  temper. 

"  Why,  Juliette,  how  can  you  have  such  ex- 
cessive, scandalous,  dreadful,  criminal  audacity  as 
to  dare  to  imply  that  you  have  ever  heard  a  single 
quarrel  or  witnessed  a  single  dispute  in  your 
family  either  at  Chauny  or  Blerancourt?  In  truth, 
you  baby,  your  health  is  only  skin  deep;  you 
[168] 


AT  HOME  AGAIN 


are  still  suffering.  Go  to  bed,  my  child,  go  to 
bed." 

You  should  have  heard  grandfather  say  all  this 
in  his  shrill,  lisping  voice.  He  was  perfectly  se- 
rious and  solemn,  and  irresistibly  funny. 

"  I  was  wrong,  I  was  wrong,  a  hundred  times 
wrong,  Sir  Grandfather,"  I  answered,  "  I  humbly 
beg  pardon,  I  repeat.  I  collapse !  " 

I  imitated  grandfather's  tone  so  perfectly  that 
even  my  mother  smiled. 

When  my  parents  had  left,  grandmother  instead 
of  questioning  me  as  I  had  expected,  said  kindly: 

"  Go  and  rest,  darling,  Arthemise  will  put  you 
to  bed,  while  we  have  our  game  of  Imperiale.  To- 
morrow, and  the  following  days,  you  shall  tell  us 
all  you  have  said,  all  you  have  done  and  seen." 

And  so  it  was,  for  days  and  days  I  talked  of 
nothing  but  Chivres.  Grandmother  was  quite 
surprised  that  I  should  have  so  enjoyed  myself 
in  a  place  where  she  would  have  been  bored  to 
death. 

During  the  last  remaining  month  of  my  holidays 
I  was  much  oftener  in  our  large  garden  than  in 
the  drawing-room  reading  stories  with  grand- 
mother. 

A  gardener  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  three 
times  a  week,  and,  guided  by  Arthemise,  he  ar- 
[169] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ranged  the  garden  as  he  pleased.  It  was  I  now 
who  looked  after  all  the  crops,  and  from  that  time 
he  obeyed  my  orders.  I  had  some  autumn  sowing 
done,  and  I  began  to  read  books  telling  about  the 
culture  of  vegetables  and  the  raising  of  fruit. 
The  garden  was  admirably  stocked  with  both.  I 
chose  one  of  the  empty  rooms  for  a  fruit-store  and 
had  some  shelves  put  up  by  the  carpenter.  Grand- 
mother took  no  interest  in  these  things;  so  she  let 
me  do  as  I  chose  with  the  gardener  and  Arthemise. 
During  the  whole  of  that  winter  we  had  ripe  fruit 
on  the  table  every  day,  and  my  grandparents  were 
much  pleased. 

I  suffered  greatly  in  not  having  a  room  to  myself 
and  being  obliged  to  share  grandmother's.  I  tried 
to  keep  it  neat  and  clean,  but  grandmother  upset 
it  as  soon  as  it  was  tidy.  She  cared  nothing  for 
the  elegance  of  the  frame,  although  she  was  so  par- 
ticular about  the  portrait,  that  is,  herself. 

When  I  was  kept  indoors  by  rain  or  bad  weather, 
I  tried  to  put  a  little  order  into  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  house.  I  ransacked  certain  drawers  and 
cupboards,  and  left  them  more  orderly  than  they 
had  ever  been  before.  To  the  rag-bag  with  all  the 
rubbish !  to  the  poor  all  that  we  could  no  longer  use ! 
Neither  grandfather  nor  grandmother  made  any 
objections,  for  they  were  convinced  that  my  ac- 
[170] 


AT  HOME  AGAIN 


tive  life  at  Chivres  had  benefited  me  much,  and 
that,  provided  I  could  create  for  myself  a  field 
of  physical  activity,  they  could  all  the  better, 
and  with  scarcely  any  danger,  set  my  head  to 
work. 

My  grandparents'  house  underwent  a  complete 
change  in  a  fortnight.  Fresh  air,  which  was  never 
allowed  to  enter  the  hermetically  closed  rooms,  now 
blew  in  abundantly,  and  even  broke  a  few  windows. 
Arthemise  and  I  scrubbed  and  rubbed  and  beat 
from  top  to  bottom.  I  discovered  in  the  garret 
some  old  vases  and  china,  rather  soiled  by  our  dear 
pigeons,  which  I  filled  with  prettily  arranged 
flowers,  and  placed  about  the  rooms. 

Grandmother  at  last  took  some  interest  in  the 
beautifying  of  our  house.  She  would  sometimes 
help  us — not  to  clean,  for  that  would  have  spoiled 
her  beautiful  hands,  but  to  arrange. 

She  opened  a  cupboard  for  me  on  the  first  floor, 
and  we  found  it  full  of  beautiful  gowns  of  dead 
grandmothers.  Out  of  these  I  made  table  and 
bureau  covers,  to  which  grandmother  added  em- 
broidery. 

Grandfather  enjoyed  this   luxury.      The  house 

seemed  much  more  attractive  to  him.     I  owed  it 

to  his  influence  that  grandmother  allowed  me  to 

have  a  room  to  myself  on  the  first  floor,  next  to 

[171] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Arthemise.  A  communicating  door  was  made 
between  the  two  rooms. 

I  selected  from  the  garret,  which  was  full 
of  furniture,  the  pieces  that  I  liked.  I  stole  from 
grandfather  a  pretty  Louis  XV.  chiffonier,  in 
which  I  had  always  kept  my  dolls  and  their  clothes. 
So  far  as  I  was  able,  I  copied  the  arrangement  of 
aunt  Sophie's  room. 

I  discovered  a  large  table  on  which  I  set  out 
my  school  books  and  papers,  and  many  times 
grandmother  left  her  beloved  drawing-room  and 
brought  her  embroidery  to  my  room  while  she  gave 
me  my  lesson. 

I  would  sometimes  send  her  away,  saying, 
"  Grandmother,  I  want  to  collect  my  thoughts." 

This  made  her  smile  and  she  would  sometimes 
tease  me  by  staying;  at  other  times  she  would  go, 
saying  to  herself  that,  after  all,  for  a  child  to 
think,  even  of  nothing  as  it  were,  was  still  thinking, 
and  that  in  my  father's  mind  and  her  own,  their 
chief  desire,  as  they  had  said  when  I  was  away,  was 
to  create  in  me  an  individuality,  even  supposing 
that  individuality  might  be  contrary  to  their  own 
ideals. 

These  desires  of  thinking  out  my  thoughts 
seldom  occurred,  however,  and  I  was  at  that  time 
so  active  and  full  of  play  that  grandmother  was 
[172] 


AT  HOME  AGAIN 


not  at  all  distressed  at  my  occasional  love  of 
solitude. 

My  dreams  were  explained  later  on  when  I  be- 
gan to  write  poetry. 

Thus  my  dual  character  was  formed.  I  have 
always  remained  very  full  of  life  when  with  other 
people ;  yet  at  times  I  am  eager  for  solitude. 


[173] 


XVII 

I    BEGIN    TO     MANAGE    MY    FAMILY 

ENDEAVOURED  most  seriously  to  put  into 
practice  what  I  had  once  told  my  grand- 
father, who  had  laughed  at  me,  namely:  to  make 
my  grandfather's  ideas  concerning  me  agree  with 
my  grandmother's.  I  fancied  myself  born  to  con- 
ciliate. I  talked  of  grandmother  to  my  father, 
and  still  oftener  of  my  father  to  grandmother, 
having  more  opportunities  for  so  doing.  I  sought 
in  every  way  to  make  them  more  indulgent  and 
loving  towards  one  another,  and  I  perceived  how 
a  word  said  at  the  proper  time,  and  thrown  into 
ground  already  prepared,  could  bring  forth  a 
good  harvest. 

I  determinedly  stood  between  them  in  their  quar- 
rels. I  forbade  any  "  talking  at "  each  other  and 
greeted  such  speeches  with  blame  and  derision.  I 
forced  any  misunderstanding  between  my  beloved 
grandparents  to  be  explained  away  instantly,  and 
I  would  not  allow  ill-humour.  I  proved  on  the 
spot  what  had  caused  either  the  misunderstanding 
or  the  rancour.  I  pleaded  a  double  cause  and 
won  it. 

"  You  surely  could  not  mean  that,  grandmother? 
[174] 


I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY 

You  have  not  understood,  grandfather.  It  is  very 
wrong  of  you  to  imagine  such  an  unkind  meaning ! 
Say  you  are  wrong.  You  know  very  well  that 
1  With  these  few  sentences,  interroga- 
tive or  affirmative,  which  I  repeated  one  after 
the  other,  very  quickly,  and  also  through  tender- 
ness and  entreaties,  I  managed  to  smooth  over  the 
quarrels,  and  by  this  means  we  all  three  kept  sad- 
ness at  bay  for  a  few  days. 

Whenever  I  had  cleared  away  all  the  black 
clouds,  I  fancied  the  sky  would  always  remain 
serene. 

You  can  imagine  how  important  I  felt  myself, 
and  how  I  persevered  in  my  peace-makings.  My 
reflections  were  certainly  absurdly  profound  in 
the  circumstances,  but  they  taught  me  to  study 
my  grandparents'  characters  with  kindness,  and 
by  that  means  to  turn  my  arguments  to  good  ac- 
count. I  noted  certain  words  spoken  when  one  or 
the  other  was  absent,  and  I  noticed  that  whenever 
I  could  add  to  my  wish  of  convincing  them  fa- 
vourably :  "  She  or  he  told  me  so  the  other  day," 
my  triumph  was  complete.  At  times  and  according 
to  circumstances,  I  ventured  some  slight  embel- 
lishments, but  I  do  not  think  any  one  could  blame 
me,  when  the  feeling  which  dictated  my  little  ex- 
aggerations was  so  praiseworthy. 
[175] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

I  learned  that  no  matter  how  young  we  may  be, 
we  can  be  kind  and  useful  to  those  we  love.  I 
was  born  with  such  a  cheerful  disposition,  I  was 
so  naturally  happy,  that  I  might  easily  have  be- 
come selfish,  had  I  not,  from  my  childhood,  thought 
a  great  deal  about  the  happiness  and  peace  of  those 
belonging  to  me,  and  especially  because  of  their 
tendency  to  make  themselves  miserable,  and  to  dis- 
turb their  lives  by  scenes  of  violence.  I  formed 
in  my  heart  an  intense  desire  to  care  always  for 
the  peace  and  welfare  of  others. 

At  nine  years  of  age  my  character  was  formed, 
and  I  have  since  then  perceived  no  essential  change 
in  my  intercourse  with  others.  My  first  interest 
in  life  was  centred  in  my  relatives,  later,  in  the 
people  of  mark  with  whom  I  lived;  and  I  have 
developed  my  own  personality  only  so  far  as  it 
could  serve  my  ardent  wish  to  love,  to  admire,  and 
to  devote  myself  to  others,  or  to  be  useful  to  any 
cause  I  espouse  and  uphold,  so  long  as  I  deemed  it 
worthy  to  be  fought  for  and  upheld. 

My  real  vocation,  in  fact,  would  have  been  that 
of  an  apostle  preaching  the  "  good  word  "  and 
reconciling  men  among  themselves.  I  was  much 
more  ardent  in  play  hours  than  in  study,  because 
I  was  busy  amusing  my  schoolmates  or  settling 
their  quarrels.  I  hated  anything  clannish,  and  I 
[176] 


I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY 

especially  sought  after  those  girls  who  stood  apart 
from  my  group.  I  led  in  everything,  but  I  was 
never  captain.  When  it  so  happened  that  there 
were  two  camps,  I  called  myself  the  chief  staff 
officer  of  the  two  commanders,  and  I  rode  from 
one  to  the  other  giving  advice  to  each. 

I  was  much  fonder  of  being  guide  than  captain, 
and  it  was  usually  owing  to  me  that  there  were 
never  any  defeats,  and  that  neither  side  got  the 
better  of  the  other.  What  unmixed  joy  I  used  to 
feel  when,  after  some  particular  play  hours  in 
which  I  had  given  myself  a  great  deal  of  trouble, 
I  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  little  girls  say- 
ing to  me :  "  What  fun  you  have  made  for  us !  " 

On  rainy  days  we  were  obliged  to  content  our- 
selves in  a  barn,  in  which  no  running  about  was 
possible,  so  I  amused  my  young  companions  by 
talking  politics  to  them.  I  demanded  absolute 
sworn  secrecfy  concerning  the  things  I  was  going 
to  tell  them,  and  of  which  they  had  never  heard 
in  their  own  families.  Their  ears  were  wide  open 
to  hear  my  stories  about  King  Louis  Philippe. 
These  were  the  stories  my  father  never  lost  an  op- 
portunity of  relating  to  grandmother  in  order  to 
make  her  angry. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  so  very  few  news- 
papers found  their  way  into  the  country,  that 
13  [177  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

politics  and  the  government  were  topics  rarely  dis- 
cussed at  table  by  grown  people,  so  I  acted  as 
a  newspaper,  and  informed  my  little  friends  of 
what  was  going  on  in  the  world. 

My  father,  whenever  he  saw  me,  gave  me  cut- 
tings from  the  Democratic  Pacifique,  and  kept  me 
so  well  posted  that  events  often  justified  my 
speeches,  and  I  was  asked  for  "  the  news." 

We  all  made  up  our  minds  that  when  we  were 
grown  up,  we  should  have  a  hand  in  government, 
and  would  state  our  opinions  frankly,  and  that 
our  future  husbands  should  be  obliged  to  be  inter- 
ested in  politics. 

I  read  every  book  I  could  lay  my  hands  on, 
and  among  them  I  found  a  volume  on  the  Fronde 
which  delighted  me,  because  the  women  of  those 
days  played  leading  parts.  I  told  my  "  dis- 
ciples "  about  the  book,  and,  to  my  delight,  they 
soon  came  around  to  all  my  ideas.  I  easily  per- 
suaded them  that  we  were  all  "  Frondeuses." 

How  proud  we  felt  at  having  ideas  of  our  own, 
and  to  belong  to  a  "  secret  society,"  for  we  bound 
ourselves  not  to  reveal  to  anyone  the  opinions  we 
shared.  And  then,  who  knew?  Things  were 
going  so  badly  that  perhaps  one  day  France  might 
have  need  of  our  devotion  and  our  capacities,  and 
we  loved  France.  We  fancied  ourselves  to  be  "  the 
[178] 


I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY 

staves  of  this  dais  which  covered  the  sacred 
reliquary  of  our  country."  One  of  the  girls  dis- 
covered this  metaphor  and  was  much  applauded. 

These  childish  things,  at  which  one  can  but 
smile,  made  us  very  patriotic  little  persons,  how- 
ever— ready,  as  we  thought,  at  least,  to  give  our 
lives  for  France.  We  no  longer  learned  history  in 
our  former  way.  Everything  in  it  interested  us. 
We  spoke  of  our  France,  at  such  and  such  an 
epoch,  and  we  discussed  at  length  the  conse- 
quences of  a  reign,  a  fact,  a  victory  or  a  defeat. 

If  a  professor  had  heard  us,  he  would  certainly 
have  found  in  our  conversations — often  very  silly, 
to  be  sure — elements  of  emulation  to  make  young 
pupils  love  studies  which  usually  bore  them  mor- 
tally. 

However,  after  a  time  we  grew  tired  of  the 
Fronde;  we  should  be  obliged  to  find  something 
new.  I  promised  to  do  so.  The  Easter  vacations 
were  at  hand,  and  I  was  to  pass  them  at  Bleran- 
court. 

When  I  arrived  there,  it  so  happened  that  one 
of  my  father's  friends,  a  Fourierite,  came  to  visit 
him.  I  had  heard  of  Fourier,  of  whom  I  knew 
but  little,  while  I  had  for  a  long  time  been  familiar 
with  Victor  Considerant  and  the  Democratie 
Pacifique. 

[179] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

My  father's  friend  explained  to  him  a  complete 
plan  for  a  phalanstery,  wishing  to  interest  him 
in  it,  and  I  remembered  what  was  necessary  for  my 
purpose,  in  order  to  make  use  of  this  new  idea  with 
my  schoolmates  during  our  future  recreations,  for 
we  were  always  eager  for  new  things. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Fourierite  my  father 
explained  to  me  all  that  I  wished  to  learn,  and  I 
soon  understood  what  a  phalanstery  was.  But  my 
father  said,  and  I  agreed  with  him,  that,  being  only 
nine  and  a  half  years  old,  I  was  still  incapable  of 
understanding  the  depth  of  Fourier's  theories,  his 
social  criticisms,  and  the  elements  of  reform. 

But  he  talked  to  me  of  Toussenel,  and  delighted 
me  with  stories  taken  from  his  L' Esprit  des  Betes, 
a  book  that  had  just  appeared,  and  about  which 
my  father  was  enthusiastic.  We  had  long  conver- 
sations about  my  pigeons,  whose  habits  I  had  stud- 
ied a  little,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  their  intelligence 
and  feelings.  Ah!  what  interesting  things  my 
father,  through  Toussenel,  revealed  to  me  concern- 
ing bees  and  ants.  In  our  walks,  when  we  came 
upon  an  anthill,  we  would  lie  down  flat,  and  I  saw 
and  learned  many  things  about  the  tiny  workers, 
those  that  laid  eggs  and  the  warriors.  What  my 
father  objected  to  was  that  there  should  be  a  queen 
among  the  bees  and  the  ants. 
[180] 


I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY 

"  You  can't  get  over  it,  papa,"  I  said,  "  and 
though  you  may  talk  for  ages  on  ages,  you  cannot 
change  the  government  of  bees  and  ants." 

All  these  histories  of  animals  were  like  fairy- 
tales, and  I  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  them,  say- 
ing :  "  Tell  me  more,  more !  " 

However,  my  father  found  in  the  study  of  these 
creatures,  despite  their  royalism,  proofs  of  the 
beauty  of  his  own  doctrines.  Making  everything 
revert  to  his  desire  to  induce  me  to  love  nature  and 
detest  bourgeoise  society,  he  tried  to  persuade  me 
that  the  associations,  the  community  of  work  and  of 
fortune,  as  practised  by  the  bees  and  the  ants, 
would  be  the  means  of  adding  more  generous  per- 
fection to  human  lives  than  mere  selfish  individual- 
ism. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  "  at  this  epoch  the  chain 
which  has  enclosed  man  in  a  middle-class  position 
during  a  century  is  expanding,  and  will  soon 
break." 

My  father  was  fond  of  their  rather  cabalistic 
formula.  I  used  it  on  all  occasions,  and  I  also 
thought  I  heard  the  breaking  of  the  chain  of 
"  middle-class  positions,"  and  was  glad. 

When  I  returned  to  Chauny  I  spoke  to  grand- 
mother of  Fourier,  of  the  phalanstery,  and  of 
U Esprit  des  Betes,  of  the  royalism  of  the  ants  and 
[181] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

the  bees,  which  was  in  sympathy  with  her  ideas,  but 
at  the  idea  of  the  communism  of  work  and  of  fort- 
une, which  we  approved,  she  laughed  merrily. 

"  Your  father  needed  only  that,  poor  fellow,  to 
complete  him!  To  receive  inspiration  from  in- 
sects, to  take  lessons  in  social  organisation  from 
animals — it  is  really  enough  to  make  sensible  peo- 
ple laugh,"  said  grandmother.  And  she  related 
to  my  grandfather  and  to  my  friend  Charles,  with 
her  mischievous  wit,  the  news  of  Jean-Louis  Lam- 
bert's new  social  theories,  developing  them  and  put- 
ting them  into  action  in  such  a  droll  manner  that, 
in  spite  of  the  effort  I  made  to  defend  these 
theories,  I  could  not  help  bursting  out  laughing 
with  the  others. 

"  You  see,  my  darling,"  said  grandmother  to  me 
one  day,  "  I  like  '  middle-class  positions,'  and  find  it 
very  pleasant  to  occupy  one,  and  do  not  wish  at 
all  that  they  should  be  broken,  for  I  myself  hold 
such  a  position.  The  best  trick  I  could  play  your 
father  would  be  to  give  him  a  '  middle-class  posi- 
tion '  as  householder.  The  house  in  which  he  lives, 
and  which  he  likes  very  much,  belongs  to  me,  and 
I'll  wager  he  would  care  for  it  a  great  deal  more 
if  I  should  give  it  to  him.  We  should  see,  then,  if 
he  would  ask  his  gardener  to  come  and  share  it 
with  him!  I  will  make  my  son-in-law  a  house- 
[182] 


I  BEGIN  TO  MANAGE  MY  FAMILY 

holder  before  a  week,  and  we  shall  soon  know  if 
through  him  I  have  tightened  by  a  link  in  his 
chain  the  man  of  '  middle-class  position,'  the 
bourgeois." 

My  grandmother  did  as  she  said,  and  my  father 
declared  that  he  was  delighted  with  his  mother-in- 
law's  gracious  gift,  but  he  did  not  change  his  ideas 
an  iota  on  account  of  it. 

My  father,  although  a  householder,  proclaimed 
himself,  as  usual,  and  with  even  more  authority,  a 
Proudhonian.  I  knew  who  Proudhon  was,  be- 
cause all  French  persons,  even  the  youngest,  had 
heard  of  his  famous  saying :  "  Property  is  theft." 
My  father  said  he  shared  Proudhon's  opinions 
concerning  the  principle  of  the  rights  of  man  and 
of  government.  The  pamphlet  addressed  by  Proud- 
hon to  Blanqui,  Qu'est  que  la  propriete,  never  left 
my  father's  work-table.  I  had  read  it  over,  on  the 
sly,  without  much  understanding,  but  I  pretended 
to  have  comprehended  it,  and  I  spoke  of  it,  not  in 
approval,  but  to  say  that,  after  all,  there  was  some 
truth  in  it. 

How  my  father  decided  between  the  conflicting 
ideas  of  Proudhon  and  Considerant — the  latter 
having  defended  the  right  to  possess  property — I 
do  not  know. 

There  were  great  discussions  in  my  family  on  all 
[183] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

the  questions  raised  apropos  of  the  association  of 
insects,  and  of  their  life  in  common ;  but  my  father, 
full  of  gratitude  for  my  grandmother's  generous 
gift,  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  speak  of 
bourgeoise  selfishness,  therefore  he  let  us  joke 
about  his  "  theories  of  animal  socialism  and  his  in- 
sects' minds,"  as  grandmother  said. 

But  my  grandfather  abhorred  revolutionary 
ideas  to  such  a  degree  that  he  scarcely  tolerated  the 
mention  of  Proudhon,  even  in  a  joking  way. 

"  Revolutionary  speeches  are  pure  gangrene," 
he  said.  "  They  propagate  themselves  in  the 
social  body  and  oblige  us  some  fine  day  to  cut 
off  a  member  of  it.  Who  will  give  me  back  my 
Emperor  to  silence  all  these  agitating  reformers? 
Oh!  yes,  to  silence  them,  for  they  say  even  more 
than  they  do." 

"  My  dear  father-in-law,"  my  father  answered, 
"  one  is  often  obliged  to  say  much  more  than  he 
can  do,  for  action  follows  words  slowly.  The  ele- 
ments of  resistance  to  progress  are  always  powerful 
enough  to  hold  it  back,  at  least  half  way.  It  is 
like  the  two  hundred  thousand  heads  Marat  asked 
for,  adding :  '  They  will  always  diminish  the  num- 
ber enough.' ' 

One  simultaneous  cry  escaped  us  all : 

"Oh!  the  horrible  man!" 
[184] 


XVIII 

I    REVISIT    CHIVRES 

|  HE  phalanstery  and  L 'Esprit  des  Betes  had 
a  great  success  at  my  school,  and  it  may  be 
imagined  what  were  our  attempts  at  social  reform ; 
but  our  love  of  animals  increased,  and  sometimes 
the  observations  of  many  of  my  schoolmates  about 
them  were  interesting. 

The  summer  came,  and  with  it  my  return  to 
Chivres  for  the  months  of  July  and  August. 

To  say  what  was  Marguerite's  delight  at  seeing 
me  again,  and  Roussot's  (whom  they  had  made 
remember  me  by  singing  to  him  a  daily  song  like 
mine),  to  tell  of  the  welcome  of  Marguerite's  old 
mother,  and  that  of  the  village  children,  who  had 
grown  a  year's  size  taller,  would  be  impossible. 

Grandfather  left  me  this  time  without  sadness, 
being  sure  of  the  warm  welcome  I  should  receive. 

The  journey  seemed  much  shorter  this  time.  I 
was  delighted  to  find  my  dear  aunts  again,  and 
they  were  most  happy  at  seeing  me  once  more. 
They  said  I  looked  like  a  young  lady  now,  which 
flattered  me  extremely. 

But  they  were  far  from  congratulating  me  on 
my  ideas  of  reform  according  to  those  comprised 
[185] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

in  L' Esprit  des  Betes,  or  on  my  interest  in  the 
Fronde,  which  they  thought  must  have  prevented 
my  studying  seriously;  neither  did  they  approve 
of  my  father's  formula  concerning  "  middle-class 
positions  which  were  about  to  break." 

There  were  explosions  of  indignation  against 
my  father,  who  would  injure  my  mind  with  such 
insanities,  they  declared. 

My  aunt  Constance  made  fun  of  me  in  such  a 
droll  way — she  much  resembled  my  grandmother 
in  wit — that  I  lowered  my  arms  before  her.  The 
bees,  the  ants,  U Esprit  des  Betes,  often  men- 
tioned in  our  conversations,  gave  my  merry  great- 
aunt  such  opportunities  for  comical  criticisms,  in 
which  my  father's  ideas,  upheld  by  me,  were  so 
ruthlessly  pulled  to  pieces,  that  I  gave  them  up. 

As  to  my  aunt  Sophie,  whom  I  took  aside  and 
endeavoured  to  convince  of  the  necessity  of  re- 
forms, she  made  me  the  same  answer,  variously 
expressed. 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  this  age ;  I  find  it  prepos- 
terous," she  said.  "  Everything  that  is  happen- 
ing comes  from  this  cause:  that  people  now  think 
only  of  rushing  to  cities,  where  they  develop  pov- 
erty. Believe  me,  my  dear  little  niece,  happiness, 
peace,  and  true  riches  are  found  only  in  the  coun- 
try." 

[186] 


I  REVISIT  CHIVRES 


My  revolutionary  ideas  were  put  away  with  my 
city  clothes,  and  declared  good  only  for  Chauny. 
Even  Marguerite  said  to  me  one  day: 

"  Your  ideas,  Mam'zelle  Juliette,  turn  poor  peo- 
ple's heads.  They  talk  about  them  in  villages. 
Workmen  declare  that  their  friend,  Monsieur 
Proudhon,  says  that  the  bourgeoise  have  stolen 
property  from  the  nobility,  and  that  poor  people 
should  now  steal  it  from  the  bourgeoise.  It  is  piti- 
ful to  hear  such  things ;  those  who  have  to  work 
should  work  and  believe  that  it  is  only  God  who 
can  give  them  an  income  in  Heaven." 

I  knew  my  two  hundred  and  fifty  Latin  words 
well.  I  had  determined  to  understand  and  re- 
member aunt  Sophie's  lessons,  and  thought  in 
consequence  that  I  should  soon  be  able  to  read 
Latin,  which  was  my  dear  teacher's  desire.  I  was 
very  enthusiastic  about  it  and  made  real  progress. 

During  our  work  in  the  fields,  which  began 
monotonously  again  and  took  much  time,  aunt 
Sophie  would  tell  me  the  Latin  names  of  every- 
thing about  us. 

When  I  found  an  analogy  between  the  Picardy 
patois — which  I  had  acquired  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing with  my  maid  Arthemise — and  Latin,  it 
pleased  me  so  much,  that  aunt  Sophie  asked  one  of 
our  relatives,  a  Raincourt  of  Saint  Quentin,  to 

[187] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

send  her  an  almanac  in  the  Picardy  tongue,  called 
The  Plowman.  She  then  devoted  herself  to  a  veri- 
table monk's  work  in  adding  to  my  stock  all  the 
Latin  words  to  be  found  in  Picardy  patois.  The 
Plowman,  in  speaking  of  work  in  the  fields, 
enabled  me  to  step  over  a  new  frontier  in  my  com- 
prehension of  the  bucolics. 

My  aunt  Sophie's  marvellous  aptitude  for 
teaching  made  her  derive  profit  from  everything, 
and  one  could  really  say  of  her  that  she  taught  by 
amusing. 

There  was  only  one  new  thing  in  our  order  of 
life:  My  aunt  Constance,  who  suffered  from 
anaemia,  had  need  of  cold  douches,  and  the  doctor 
ordered  her  to  go  and  take  them  by  the  side  of  the 
mill-wheel.  Cold  baths  were  excellent  for  me,  and 
I  took  one  every  day  in  the  pretty  wash-house  of 
the  close,  so  my  aunt  Constance  took  me  with  her 
every  afternoon.  She  was  as  gay  and  as  much  of 
a  child  as  I,  and  we  would  amuse  ourselves  so  much 
that  we  laughed  till  we  cried.  The  bathing  hour 
at  the  mill  became  a  regular  frolic,  and  aunt  An- 
astasie,  seduced  by  my  descriptions  of  it,  came 
with  us  once  or  twice  and  finally  always  accom- 
panied us.  Soon  the  miller's  wife  joined  our 
party,  and  then  Marguerite.  Aunt  Sophie  alone 
resisted.  She  had  not  left  the  house  or  the  close 
[188] 


I  REVISIT  CHIVRES 


for  twenty  years.  Great-grandmother  moved  with 
difficulty  from  her  arm-chair,  so  there  was  no  hope 
of  bringing  her,  and,  besides,  one  of  her  daughters 
was  always  obliged  to  stay  with  her. 

Roussot,  therefore,  alone  remained  to  be  asked 
to  join  us,  and  I  invited  him  one  day  after  break- 
fast, when  he  had  his  daily  bread,  by  a  well-turned 
speech  intermingled  with  songs. 

While  we  were  laughing,  Roussot  answered,  if 
not  my  speech  at  least  my  song,  and  we  concluded 
he  had  accepted  the  invitation. 

That  afternoon  Marguerite  led  him  by  the 
bridle  into  the  little  river.  I  was  mounted  on  him 
and  was  going  to  take  my  plunge  from  his  back; 
but  the  bath  made  him  so  merry  that  he  threw  me 
off  disrespectfully  into  the  water.  He  even  dared 
to  kick  about  and  splashed  us  all  over  so  much 
that  we  could  not  see  clearly  enough  to  drive  him 
out  of  the  water. 

We  laughed  more  that  day  than  on  any  other, 
but  we  did  not  propose,  however,  to  try  again  the 
experience  of  a  bath  in  company  with  Roussot  the 
next  day,  for  he  was  really  too  free  and  easy  in  his 
manners. 

The  two  months  spent  with  my  aunts  seemed  like 
two  weeks.  I  had  never  until  then  fully  realised 
how  rapidly  time  can  pass. 

[189] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

But  my  annual  visit  to  Chivres  was  so  dear  to 
me,  it  had  become  such  a  joy  in  my  life,  that  I 
should  have  thought  myself  wrong  to  have  sor- 
rowed over  its  short  duration. 


[190] 


XIX 

I   BEGIN    MY   LITERARY    WORK 

DO  not  know  whether  it  was  from  my  aunt 
Sophie's  influence,  or  my  contact  with  nature, 
living  amid  it,  or  whether  it  was  the  slow,  clever 
training  of  my  mind  by  my  father,  that  made  my 
brain  swarm  with  poetical,  mythological,  and 
classical  images.  I  dreamed  in  turn  of  Homer 
and  of  Virgil,  whom  I  called  his  great-nephew, 
in  order  to  give  him  the  same  degree  of  relation- 
ship to  Homer  as  that  which  I  possessed  towards 
aunt  Sophie. 

In  September  and  October  of  that  year,  after  I 
had  returned  to  Chauny,  I  thought  I  had  become  a 
poet.  I  wrote  rhymes  about  everything  I  saw: 
the  sun,  the  moon,  the  heavens,  birds,  flowers,  fruit, 
and  even  about  the  vegetables  in  my  large  garden 
at  Chauny,  in  which  I  lived  all  day  during  the  last 
months  of  my  vacation. 

I  confided  with  trembling  my  first  "  poem  "  to 
grandmother,  and  she  criticised  it  with  deep  emo- 
tion. I  criticised  it  myself  later  with  extreme 
humiliation  and  contrition.  I  was  already  a  well- 
instructed  girl,  and  I  might  have  done  far  better, 
but  my  grandparents  found  this  poetry  so  beauti- 
[191] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ful  that  they  read  and  re-read  it  to  all  comers,  and 
grandfather  took  it  with  him  to  his  club. 

The  idea  of  writing  some  day  most  certainly 
came  to  me  at  this  time,  for  I  did  not  cease  to 
cover  paper  with  verses  and  prose  from  that  day. 

I  said  to  myself  what  was  a  curious  thing  for  a 
girl  of  my  age  to  think:  that  one  must  feel  deep 
emotion  in  order  to  write  and  to  move  others,  and 
I  sought  all  manner  of  pretexts  to  arouse  my 
emotions. 

There  was  at  the  end  of  our  large  garden,  at  the 
foot  of  a  very  high  wall,  a  plot  of  currant-bushes, 
too  much  in  the  shade  to  yield  much  fruit ;  so  they 
were  allowed  to  grow  at  will,  mixed  with  raspberry 
bushes  and  brambles. 

I  had  a  circular  place  made  for  me  in  this  un- 
derwood. I  carried  some  garden  chairs  and  a 
table  to  it,  and  I  called  this  corner  "  my  temple  of 
verdure."  No  one  but  myself  was  allowed  to  en- 
joy it.  I  lived  there,  during  my  vacations,  from 
breakfast  to  dinner  time,  dreaming,  when  the 
weather  permitted,  and,  above  all,  telling  myself 
stories  in  which  I  took  extreme  delight. 

I  put  so  much  emotion  into  my  voice  that  it 
made  my  heart  ache.     I  would  often  cry  bitterly 
over  the  unhappiness,  the  sufferings,  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  misery  I  invented. 
[192] 


I  BEGIN  MY  LITERARY  WORK 

I  can  hear  myself  even  to-day,  and  see  myself 
sitting  amongst  my  brambles,  with  the  shadow  of 
the  high  wall  falling  upon  me,  and  beginning  my 
story  in  this  wise: 

"  There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  poor  little  boy," 
— or  little  girl,  or  a  poor  animal,  chosen  from 
among  those  I  loved  the  best,  whom  I  made  most 
unhappy  on  account  of  this  or  that,  and  my  sor- 
row for  them  always  increased,  for  I  had  no 
pity,  either  for  my  own  feelings  or  for  those  of 
my  heroes.  Their  sufferings  became  so  poignant 
that  I  sobbed.  How  many  victims  I  invented ! 
The  distant  noise  of  the  garden  gate,  announcing 
Arthemise  coming  to  call  me  to  dinner,  alone  de- 
cided me  to  make  my  victims  happy,  especially  if 
they  had  been  obliged  to  suffer  privations.  I 
could  not  have  gone  to  the  table  and  carried  with 
me  the  anguish  of  letting  them  die  of  hunger ! 

After  some  days  of  this  sorrowful  exercise,  I 
selected  the  story  which  seemed  to  me  the  most 
touching  and  dramatic;  I  put  it  into  rhyme  or 
wrote  it  in  prose  on  a  large  sheet  of  paper  in  my 
best  handwriting  to  read  to  grandmother. 

On  Sundays,  as  soon  as  vespers  were  over,  I  shut 
myself  up  in  my  room  and  composed  a  review  of 
the  week's  events.  This  composition  was  a  bar- 
gain between  my  grandparents  and  myself.  They 
14  [  193  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

gave  me  a  cake  made  of  puff -paste  called  frangi- 
pane,  which  I  loved,  and  which  grandfather  went 
to  get  himself  at  the  confectioner's  at  dinner- 
time, so  as  to  have  it  hot,  and  cooked  to  the  right 
degree.  I  regaled  my  dear  "  ancestors  " — this 
was  the  new  name  I  bestowed  upon  them — with  my 
writings,  and  they  regaled  me  with  frangipane, 
cut  into  three  parts. 

Ah !  if  I  had  never  had  other  hearers  and  read- 
ers save  my  grandparents,  how  much  criticism 
would  have  been  spared  me,  and  how  much  en- 
thusiastic success  I  would  have  had!  No  public, 
no  admirers  were  ever  so  convinced  as  they  that 
they  were  listening  to  chefs  d'ceuvres. 

My  friend  Charles,  the  professor,  often  invited 
to  our  table  on  Sundays,  was  obliged  to  proffer 
his  share  of  praise.  He  did  so  most  willingly,  for 
his  affection  for  me  blinded  him.  How  many 
times  did  I  hear  him  say : 

"  There  is  something  of  worth  in  what  that  child 
writes ;  she  will  make  her  mark." 

My  grandmother  drank  in  my  praise  as  if  it 
were  the  nectar  of  the  gods. 

Was  my  friend  Charles  half  sincere?  I  be- 
lieved so,  but  another  person,  a  newcomer,  who 
soon  took  possession  of  all  our  hearts,  was  surely 
and  entirely  so. 

[194] 


I  BEGIN  MY  LITERARY  WORK 

His  name  was  Monsieur  Blondeau.  He  was  a 
State  Recorder,  and  had  taken  an  apartment  on 
the  ground  floor  of  our  house,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  hall  from  us,  which  looked  out  on  our  blos- 
soming courtyard  and  the  street  at  once.  His 
apartment  comprised  an  office,  a  drawing-room, 
bedroom,  and  kitchen,  and  on  the  first  story  a  room 
for  his  old  servant,  who  served  him  as  maid-of-all- 
work. 

Blondeau — I  never  called  him  Monsieur  from 
the  first  week  after  his  arrival — was  an  old  bach- 
elor, very  ugly,  his  face  all  seamed  and  scarred, 
because  when  he  was  a  child  this  same  old  servant 
had  let  him  fall  out  of  a  high  window  on  a  heap  of 
stones;  but  his  kindness,  his  constant  desire  to  de- 
vote himself  to  others  and  to  be  useful  to  them,  to 
love  them,  and  to  make  himself  beloved,  made  him 
adorable. 

I  soon  gave  him  the  title  of  friend,  and,  as  he 
was  tired  of  table  d'hote  life,  and,  as  his  old  ser- 
vant, whom  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Lons- 
le-Saulnier,  was  capable  only  of  cooking  his  break- 
fast passably  well,  I  obtained  grandmother's  per- 
mission to  have  him  dine  with  us  every  evening, 
knowing  it  was  his  dream  and  ambition.  He  was 
another  one  fanatically  devoted  to  me — rather  let 
me  say,  one  of  my  slaves. 

[195] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Although  he  had  much  work  to  do,  having  no 
clerk,  I  enlisted  him  to  aid  me  in  doing  my  arith- 
metic exercises  and  in  copying  out  my  week's  com- 
positions. He  read  admirably,  far  better  than 
grandmother,  and  he  became  my  habitual  reader. 

It  would  not  have  been  strange  had  I  been  per- 
suaded by  all  these  flattering  opinions  that  my 
talents,  which  Blondeau  said  "  grew  as  fast  as 
grass,"  surpassed  those  of  all  known  prodigies. 

Even  my  father,  who  was  a  lettered  man,  and 
whose  good  taste  should  have  enlightened  him  con- 
cerning his  daughter's  lucubrations,  considered 
my  writings  marvellous. 

But  my  mother,  with  her  usual  lack  of  indul- 
gence, rendered  me  the  service  of  sobering  me  re- 
garding all  this  praise.  She  put  things  in  their 
proper  place,  even  exaggerating  them  in  a  con- 
trary sense.  She  declared  that  what  I  wrote  was 
inept,  and  that  they  would  make  me  a  mediocre 
person  by  fostering  in  me  a  phenomenal  pride. 

I  alone  was  not  vexed  with  her.  She  helped  me 
to  criticise  myself,  although  sometimes  I  thought 
her  criticisms  as  excessive  as  the  admiration  of  my 
flatterers  was  exaggerated. 

Having  a  sufficient  company  at  home  on  Sun- 
days, my  friend  Charles  included,  I  determined  to 
put  my  weekly  reviews  into  dialogues.  Each  one 
[196] 


I  BEGIN  MY  LITERARY  WORK 

of  us  read  his  personal  pages  in  turn,  or  we  replied 
to  one  another 

When  I  think  of  all  I  made  my  grandparents 
and  Blondeau  read  and  say,  I  am  abashed.  More- 
over, everyone  kept  the  name  I  had  given  him,  and 
the  character  of  the  role  assigned  to  him,  through- 
out the  evening.  They  allowed  themselves  to  be 
questioned  by  me,  and  answered  "  attentively,"  as 
my  friend  Charles  said.  Had  they  at  least 
been  amused  with  this  child's  play,  it  would 
have  been  tolerable,  but  on  the  contrary,  they  were 
obliged  to  rediscuss  the  weekly  discussions,  the 
wherefores  of  the  most  subtle  questions  I  had  laid 
before  myself,  which  must  often  have  been  rare 
nonsense  and  silliness. 

My  heart  is  full  of  gratitude  and  tenderness  for 
my  four  sufferers,  and,  as  these  recollections  bring 
them  before  me,  perhaps  I  love  them  to-day  even 
more  than  I  did  at  that  time. 


[197] 


XX 

LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT  FROM  PRISON 

|Y  godmother  Camille,  of  whom  I  was  very 
fond,  and  whom  I  used  to  visit  every  Thurs- 
day at  the  glass  manufactory  at  Saint-Gobain — 
not  to  amuse  myself,  but  to  talk  with  her,  for  she 
conversed  with  me  on  serious  subjects — had  left 
Chauny  two  years  previously,  but  she  came  every 
two  or  three  months  to  pass  a  week  with  us.  She 
lived  at  Ham,  where  my  godfather  was  the  mana- 
ger of  a  sugar-refinery.  She  was  very  intimate 
with  Prince  Louis  Napoleon,  and  my  grandfather 
joked  with  her  frequently  about  the  honour  of 
having  inspired  a  Napoleon — and,  he  doubted  not, 
a  future  Emperor — with  "  a  sentiment "  for  her, 
and  he  went,  moreover,  himself  to  assure  the  Pre- 
tender about  his  hope  of  seeing  him  an  Emperor 
some  day. 

It  annoyed  my  grandfather  to  hear  that  this 
Bonaparte  was  called  a  socialist.  But  he  declared 
that  it  could  not  be — it  was  a  calumny. 

My  godmother  repeated  to  my  grandfather 
something  that  the  "  Prince  "  had  said  to  her  be- 
fore he  wrote  it,  and  which  she  thought  admirable : 
[198] 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT 

"  With  the  name  I  bear,  I  must  have  either  the 
gloom  of  a  prison-cell,  or  the  light  of  power." 

"  We  shall  have  him  one  day  for  Emperor,"  said 
my  grandfather.  It  was  from  his  lips  that  I 
heard  for  the  first  time :  "  We  shall  have  Napo- 
leon," which  was  so  often  repeated  later. 

"  But  the  Republic  is  his  ideal,"  said  my  god- 
mother, who  knew  by  heart  everything  that  Louis 
Napoleon  wrote.  "  He  does  not  know  whether 
France  is  '  republican  or  not,  but  he  will  aid  the 
people,  if  he  is  called  to  power,  to  find  a  govern- 
mental form  embodying  the  principles  of  the 
Revolution.'  Those  are  his  exact  words,"  said  my 
godmother.  She  added :  "  He  formulates  his  am- 
bition thus: 

"  '  I  wish  to  group  around  my  name  the  parti- 
sans of  the  People's  Sovereignty.' ' 

"  You  are  crazy  about  your  Prince,  Camille," 
answered  my  grandmother,  "  and  you  see  him  with 
the  prestige  of  all  you  feel  for  his  misfortunes — as 
a  prisoner,  coupled  with  the  greatness  of  his  name. 
But  was  there  ever  a  more  ridiculous  pretender? 
Remember  his  rash  attempt  at  Boulogne,  with  his 
three-cornered  hat,  the  sword  of  Austerlitz,  and 
the  tamed  eagle.  He  is  grotesque." 

If  my  father  came  while  Camille  was  with  us  he 
was  much  amused  at  my  grandfather's  exaspera- 

[199] 


tion  when  he  and  Camille  would  declare  that  Louis 
Napoleon  was  more  of  a  socialist  than  themselves, 
for  had  he  not  written : 

"  What  I  wish  is  to  give  to  thirty-five  millions  of 
Frenchmen  the  education,  the  moral  training,  the 
competency  which,  until  now,  has  been  the  ap- 
panage only  of  the  minority." 

"  The  proof  that  he  is  a  socialist,"  added  my 
father,  "  is  that  one  of  our  party,  Elie  Sorin, 
swears  by  him;  he  is  always  saying  to  me: 
'  Louis  Napoleon  is  not  a  Pretender  in  our  eyes, 
but  a  member  of  our  party,  a  soldier  under  our 
flag.  The  Napoleon  of  to-day,  a  captive,  per- 
sonifies the  grief  of  the  people,  in  irons  like 
himself.'  " 

Sometimes  my  grandfather,  after  having  been 
angry,  laughed  at  this  kind  of  talk. 

"  He  is  a  sly  fellow,"  he  replied.  "  He  is  mak- 
ing fools  of  you  all.  A  Bonaparte  is  made  to  be 
an  Emperor,  you  will  see,  and  we  shall  have  Na- 
poleon ! " 

My  godmother  adored  my  grandmother,  and  she 
should  have  been  her  daughter  instead  of  my 
mother.  They  wrote  to  each  other  every  week  and 
sympathised  on  all  subjects.  My  grandmother, 
apropos  of  Camille,  put  on  mysterious  airs  even  in 
my  presence.  They  were  constantly  whispering 
[200] 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT 

secrets   together,   especially   since   my   godmother 
lived  at  Ham. 

One  day  I  unintentionally  surprised  them  with  a 
boot  placed  on  grandmother's  work-table,  at  which 
they  were  gazing  with  tender  eyes.  They  looked 
so  droll  contemplating  this  boot  that  I  could  not 
help  asking  to  what  fairy  prince  this  precious  thing 
had  belonged? 

My  godmother  answered: 

"  To  Prince  Louis." 

"  Did  you  steal  it  from  him,  godmother,  to  keep 
as  a  relic?  " 

"  He  gave  it  to  me." 

"His  boot?" 

"  Yes." 

"  For  what?  " 

"  For  a  bouquet-holder." 

I  burst  out  laughing. 

"  But  look,  dear  scoffer,  how  small  it  is.  Can 
you  not  understand  that  he  is  vain  of  it?  " 

"  Ah !  no,  to  send  a  bouquet  in  his  boot  is  not 
good  manners.  Has  he  worn  it,  or  is  it  new?  " 

"  He  has  worn  it,  of  course.  If  he  had  not,  it 
would  be  a  boot  like  any  other  boot.  But  he  has 
worn  it,  Juliette,  he  has  worn  it ! " 

And  my  godmother  reassumed  the  admiring  air 
she  had  worn  when  I  entered  the  drawing-room. 
[201] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Really,  godmother,  I  must  tell  you  that  you 
seem  to  me  to  be  a  little  crazy ! " 

One  day  our  Camille  arrived  suddenly  from  Ham 
in  a  state  of  extraordinary  agitation. 

She  threw  herself  on  grandmother's  neck, 
where  she  remained  a  long  while,  sobbing.  She 
whispered  in  her  friend's  ear,  who  uttered  many 
exclamations,  many  "  Ohs !  "  and  "  Ahs !  "  inter- 
mingled with :  "  Camille,  how  happy  you  must 
be !  "  alternating  with  "  Camille,  how  unhappy 
you  are ! " 

Blondeau  and  I  were  present  at  this  scene,  of 
which,  of  course,  we  understood  absolutely  nothing. 

My  grandfather  arrived.  There  were  the  same 
whisperings  in  his  ear,  the  same  exclamations,  the 
same  embraces,  and  again :  "  Camille,  how  happy 
you  must  be !  Camille,  how  unhappy  you  are !  " 

"  May  the  Supreme  Being  be  blessed !  "  suddenly 
exclaimed  my  grandfather,  in  a  solemn  tone,  for 
he  never  invoked  the  Supreme  Being  except  on 
stormy  days,  when  the  thunder  recalled  the  noise 
of  cannon. 

Something  phenomenal  was  certainly  happen- 
ing. Not  being  curious,  I  had  great  respect  for 
secrets,  especially  as  my  family  kept  few  from  me. 
I  did  not  try  to  discover  this  secret,  therefore,  but 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  some  important 
[202] 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT 

person  had  been  saved  after  great  peril,  and, 
strangely,  that  my  godmother  was  at  once  happy 
and  unhappy  about  it. 

After  dinner  I  said  to  Blondeau : 

"  Does  this  mystery  interest  you  ?  Are  you  try- 
ing to  understand  something  about  it?  " 

"  I  understand  it  perfectly,"  he  replied. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Parbleu!  it  is  that  the  Prince,  who  is  cracked 
about  your  crazy  godmother  "  (Blondeau  was  an 
Orleanist,  of  my  grandfather's  way  of  thinking), 
"  has  escaped  from  prison.  I  think  she  has  helped 
him  in  his  flight,  and  that,  as  she  adores  him  and 
is  now  separated  from  him,  she  must  feel,  as  your 
grandparents  say,  at  once  very  happy  and  very 
unhappy ;  that  is  all  the  mystery." 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  they  foolishly 
continued  to  keep  up  their  mysterious  airs  before 
me;  so  I  said  to  my  godmother,  Blondeau  not  be- 
ing present : 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  hide  what  every  one  knows, 
— that  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte  has  es- 
caped from  his  prison  at  Ham  ?  " 

"  How  can  it  be  known  already  ?     When  was  it 
discovered?  "  exclaimed  my  godmother.     "  He  had 
just  escaped  when  I  left  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
they  could  not  have  known  it  before  evening." 
[203] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Tell  me  the  beginning  of  the  story,  god- 
mother," said  I,  "  since  I  know  the  end." 

She  hesitated. 

My  grandmother,  happy  at  having  a  chance  to 
relate  an  adventure,  asked  Camille  if  she  would 
allow  her  to  tell  it  to  me. 

Godmother  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  Well,  imagine  that  Prince  Louis  pretended  to 
be  ill,  and  to  have  need  of  taking  a  purge,  and 
shut  himself  up  in  his  room." 

"  Oh !  grandmother,  that  is  not  poetical,"  I  in- 
terrupted. 

"  Be  quiet !  you  must  think  of  the  end  pursued 
and  achieved.  Well,  then,  as  some  workmen  for 
several  days  had  been  going  in  and  coming  out  of 
the  citadel  making  repairs,  he  cut  his  beard  and 
disguised  himself  as  a  carpenter,  and  passed  out 
before  the  guard  with  a  plank  of  wood  on  his 
shoulder." 

"  Grandmother,  don't  you  think  it  rather  com- 
monplace for  a  prince  to  disguise  himself  as  a  car- 
penter? " 

"  I  think  it  very  clever  of  him  to  have  got  the 
better  of  his  jailers,  in  spite  of  all  their  surveil- 
lance. Doctor  Conneau,  who  had  been  set  free 
several  months  previously,  arranged  and  prepared 
it  all,  aided  by  Camille.  Yesterday  he  drove  out 
[204] 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON'S  FLIGHT 

of  the  town  in  a  tilbury  with  your  godmother,  who 
got  out  and  hid  herself  at  a  certain  point,  and 
gave  her  place  to  the  prince,  who  had  doffed  his 
workman's  clothes;  and  with  well-prepared  relays, 
Doctor  Conneau  and  the  Prince  reached  the 
frontier.  Meanwhile  your  godmother  came  to  us 
in  a  carriage  she  had  hired  at  a  village,  after  hav- 
ing walked  a  long  way." 

Was  the  Prince  saved  ?  No  one  knew  as  yet,  since 
no  one  except  Blondeau,  who  knew  nothing  about 
it,  had  spoken  of  it.  However,  at  dinner,  Blon- 
deau absolved  me  of  my  untruth,  by  announcing 
that  he  had  heard  that  morning  of  the  Prince's 
successful  escape. 

"  All  the  same,"  he  added,  as  I  had  previously 
said,  "  to  disguise  one's  self  as  a  carpenter  is  not 
irreproachable  good  form." 

"  A  Napoleon  elevates  every  one  of  his  acts.  A 
Bonaparte  could  not  remain  the  prisoner  of  an 
Orleans,"  replied  my  grandfather.  "  He  has  es- 
caped. That  is  everything." 

"  The  romantic  part  of  it,"  added  my  grand- 
mother, "  lies  in  the  fact  that  he  has  escaped  from 
his  jailers,  that  his  prison  doors,  so  strongly  barred, 
have  been  opened  by  a  stratagem  that  no  one  fore- 
saw nor  discovered.  It  is  those  who  imprisoned 
him — I  regret  to  say  it — who  have  been  tricked 
[205] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

and  made  ridiculous.  I  love  King  Louis  Philippe, 
as  Caraille  knows,  more  than  this  Bonaparte,  who 
seems  to  me  in  his  character  of  pretender  a  plotter 
and  an  intriguer.  But  as  a  man,  from  all  Camille 
has  told  me  of  him,  I  confess  he  is  charming;  and 
as  he  was  her  friend,  I  think  she  did  right  in  aiding 
him  in  his  flight.  If  I  had  been  in  her  place  I 
would  not  have  hesitated  either." 

My  godmother  remained  with  us  for  a  fortnight, 
but  was  not  consoled  for  the  absence  of  her  Prince, 
for  I  saw  her  weeping  more  than  once. 


[206] 


XXI 

MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

lOTHING  in  particular  happened  to  occupy 
or  disturb  my  life  until  the  winter  of  1847. 
Things  repeated  themselves  monotonously.  The 
collisions  between  my  relatives  were  multiplied,  the 
divergence  between  their  reciprocal  opinions  be- 
came more  and  more  intensified.  My  grand- 
mother became  somewhat  embittered,  and  occasion- 
ally blamed  her  dear  King  Louis  Philippe;  my 
grandfather  declared  himself  more  certain  of  the 
future  triumph  of  his  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. He  was  a  member  of  several  Bonapartist 
committees.  My  father  thought  he  was  nearer 
to  his  democratic-socialist  republic;  my  aunts 
mourned  more  and  more  over  the  imbecility  of  the 
people  in  believing  in  those  who  deceived  them; 
over  political  immorality,  and  the  madness  of  all 
parties. 

I  had  at  that  time  one  of  the  most  violent,  most 
despairing  revolts,  and  one  of  the  most  inconsolable 
sorrows  of  my  life. 

The  winter  was  particularly  cold.  My  large 
garden  was  filled  with  snow,  but  I  had  discovered 

[207] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

» that  it  still  possessed  beauty.  My  grandmother, 
who  felt  the  cold  severely,  did  not  move  from  her 
room,  which  opened  into  the  drawing-room,  or  from 
the  drawing-room  itself.  She  kept  up  a  large 
wood  fire  in  it,  which  she  excelled  in  making. 

Grandfather  often  said  to  her  that  she  proved 
the  untruth  of  the  proverb  which  said  that  "  one 
must  be  in  love  or  be  a  philosopher  to  know  how 
to  make  a  good  fire."  "  Now,  you  are  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other,"  he  added  one  day. 

Grandmother  replied: 

"  I  am  a  philosopher  because  I  bear  with  you, 
and  am  not  angry  with  you  in  spite  of  all  you  have 
made  me  endure.  I  am  no  longer  in  love  with 
you,  but  is  it  not  because  my  passion  for  my  hus- 
band was  destroyed  at  a  very  early  hour  that  I 
remain  in  love  with  love,  and  that  I  console  or  dis- 
tract myself  in  reading  of  the  romantic  happiness 
or  unhappiness  of  others  ?  " 

Blondeau  loved  the  snow  as  much  as  I.  Well- 
shod  with  Strasburg  woollen  socks  and  thick  sabots, 
we  would  go  after  breakfast  to  make  enormous 
heaps  of  snow  in  which  we  would  dig  galleries,  or 
else  we  would  mould  figures  with  it.  The  trees, 
the  plants,  the  borderings  of  box,  the  walled-fruit, 
were  prettier  one  than  the  other,  under  their  snowy 
garments. 

[208] 


MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

Along  the  high  wall,  overtopping  the  trees  of 
my  temple  of  verdure,  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
whose  branches  were  all  powdered  with  brilliant 
hoar-frost  shining  on  a  carpet  looking  like  white 
wool,  huge  stalactites  hung,  superb  and  glittering. 
It  was  a  fairy  scene  when  at  sunset  these  stalactites 
would  light  up,  shining  under  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun,  when  drops  like  diamonds  would  hang  on  the 
extreme  end  of  their  delicate  points. 

"  Blondeau,  my  dear  Blondeau,  look  at  this, 
look  at  that,  how  pretty,  how  beautiful,  how  splen- 
did and  brilliant  it  is ! "  I  would  cry. 

My  admiration  was  inexhaustible  as  was  Blon- 
deau's  pleasure  at  listening  to  me  and  seeing  me 
so  delighted,  so  merrily  happy. 

But  one  day  in  this  same  snowy  and  fairy-like 
garden,  where  everything  was  so  dear  and  precious 
to  me,  Blondeau  seized  me  by  the  hand  and  began 
to  walk  rapidly.  Although  I  asked  him  what  it 
meant,  he  did  not  answer  me. 

"  Let  us  walk  around  the  garden,"  he  replied  to 
all  my  questions. 

"  Walk  around  it,  Blondeau !  We  have  already 
done  so  four  times,  and  you  want  to  begin  again. 
Ah !  no,  indeed !  you  must  tell  me  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you." 

He  was  so  agitated  I  was  afraid  he  had  become 
15  [  209  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

mad,  and  I  was  worried  more  than  can  be  imagined. 
My  heart  stood  still  to  see  him  like  this  and  I  could 
neither  breathe  nor  walk.  I  drew  my  hand  sud- 
denly  from  his,  and,  planting  myself  before  him, 
I  said : 

"  Speak  to  me,  Blondeau,  for  I  think  you  are 
crazy." 

"  I  wish  I  were,"  he  replied,  despairingly,  "  so 
as  not  to  make  you  suffer  the  dreadful  sorrow  I  am 
going  to  cause  you.  Ah!  your  grandmother  has 
given  me  a  nice  errand  to  perform.  I  was  too 
stupid,  truly,  to  take  upon  myself  the  duty  of  tell- 
ing you  such  news.  I  wish  I  were  a  hundred  feet 
underground." 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Blondeau  ?  You  are  killing 
me!" 

He  seized  my  hand  again  and  went  around 
the  garden  almost  running,  then  he  stopped  sud- 
denly, having  at  last  found  the  courage  to  say 
to  me: 

"  Juliette,  my  darling  child,  you  know  that 
Madame  Dufey  has  sold  her  boarding-school  to 
the  Demoiselles  Andre,  your  mother's  friends,  who 
knew  them  in  the  hamlet  that  was  burned  down  in 
the  first  days  of  your  parents'  marriage — the  ham- 
let where  your  grandfather's  uncle  lived." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  and  those  ladies  are  very  nice.  I 
[210] 


MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

have  seen  them.  They  told  me  they  cherished  a 
very  dear  memory  of  my  mother,  and  would  be 
happy  to  extend  their  faithful  affection  to  her 
daughter.  I  thought  the  phrase  very  pretty  and 
have  remembered  it.  What  sorrow  do  you  think  I 
can  feel  from  them  ?  " 

Instructed  by  my  grandmother,  Blondeau  had 
certainly  prepared  a  long  speech,  but,  carried  away 
by  haste  after  all  his  hesitations,  he  said  to  me  in  a 
brutal  way: 

"  Well,  your  grandmother  has  sold  the  garden 
to  the  Demoiselles  Andre  to  build  a  boarding-school 
in  it." 

"  What  garden?  " 

"  This  one,  ours,  hers,  yours ! " 

"  You  are  telling  an  untruth !  " 

"  Alas,  I  am  not.  Your  grandmother  did  not 
dare  to  tell  you  until  the  contract  was  signed ;  she 
knew  that  you  would  beg  her  not  to  do  it,  and 
would  prevent  her;  now  the  thing  is  irrevocable. 
Everything  was  finished  this  morning." 

"  It  is  abominable.  I  wish  to  keep  my  trees,  my 
temple  of  verdure,  my  brambles.  I  don't  want — I 
don't  want  them  to  be  taken  from  me !  Blondeau, 
buy  back  my  garden,  you  have  money.  We  will 
make  a  house  in  it  for  our  two  selves ;  you,  at  least, 
cannot  abandon  me." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

And  I  threw  myself  in  his  arms,  weeping. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  all  my  trees  raised  their 
branches  heavenward,  and  that  they  wept  with  me 
under  the  sunshine. 

What!  my  vines,  with  their  bunches  of  muscat 
grapes,  of  which  I  was  so  fond ;  what !  my  immense 
apricot  tree,  which  I  had  had  measured  and  which 
was  the  largest  one  in  Chauny,  and  which  people 
came  to  see,  with  its  five  yards  of  breadth  and  ten 
yards  of  height;  what!  my  box,  which  I  had  cut 
myself  into  balls  and  borders;  was  all  this  to  be 
pulled  up,  cut,  destroyed? 

"  Blondeau,  why  has  grandmother  caused  me 
this  great  grief,  for  which  I  shall  never  be  con- 
soled?" 

"  Because  she  could  never  find  such  a  chance 
again,  and  it  is  for  your  dot." 

Then  I  burst  forth. 

"  Oh !  yes,  again  for  money — that  money  which 
makes  the  misery  of  my  life.  It  is  like  the  inheri- 
tance for  which  mamma  would  have  let  me  die! 
Grandmother  is  going  to  kill  me  that  I  may  have 
a  dot!  " 

This  time  it  was  I  who  provoked  the  "  family 
drama,"  and  what  a  drama  it  was !  I  showed  my- 
self on  this  occasion  the  passionate  child  of  my 
violent-tempered  father.  My  anger  and  my  hard- 
[212] 


MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

ness  towards  my  grandmother  made  her  suffer  ter- 
ribly. 

I  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  for  more  than  a 
fortnight.  Arthemise  brought  me  my  meals.  I 
would  open  my  door  only  to  her.  Neither  Blon- 
deau,  grandfather,  nor  my  friend  Charles  were 
allowed  to  enter.  My  grandmother  did  not  even 
dare  to  come  upstairs.  I  wrote  her  every  day  a 
letter  filled  with  cruel  reproaches,  to  which  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  reply. 

Her  great  fear  was  that  my  father  would  ar- 
rive and  that  I  would  wish  to  leave  her  forever. 
However,  to  tranquillize  her  on  that  score,  there 
was  a  serious  quarrel  pending  between  herself  and 
my  father  at  that  time,  the  latter  having  wished  to 
borrow  money  from  her  to  pay  the  debts  of  his 
soldier-brother,  who  led  a  wild  life ;  and  as  she  had 
refused,  they  had  not  seen  each  other  for  two 
months. 

I  thought  of  Blerancourt,  where  the  garden  was 
small,  to  be  sure,  but  was  separated  from  other 
gardens  only  by  hedges,  where  I  should  have  my 
father,  who  I  certainly  loved  as  much  as  grand- 
mother; but  my  mother's  coldness,  compared  with 
grandfather's  exuberance  and  gaiety,  frightened 
me.  And  then  at  Blerancourt  there  was  no  Blon- 
deau  nor  friend  Charles.  Besides,  I  knew  very  well 
[213] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

that,  although  my  mother  was  jealous  of  grand- 
father's affection  for  me,  she  would  blame  me  for 
abandoning  her,  would  say  I  was  ungrateful,  and, 
moreover,  I  could  not  think  of  explaining  to  her 
grandmother's  reason  for  selling  the  garden  and 
her  anxiety  regarding  my  dot. 

These  reflections  following  one  another  in  my 
mind,  at  times  made  me  indulgent  toward  grand- 
mother, but,  as  soon  as  I  thought  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  my  garden,  I  suffered  so  acutely  that  I 
listened  no  longer  to  justice. 

I  thought  also  of  asking  my  aunts  to  take  me, 
of  writing  to  Marguerite  to  come  with  Roussot 
some  night,  when  I  would  give  her  rendezvous  in 
the  little  street  des  Juifs  on  which  our  garden 
opened,  so  that  she  could  steal  me  away ;  but  I  had 
the  secret  instinct  that  if  my  aunts  were  very 
happy  to  have  me  two  months  in  the  year,  at  the 
time  when  they  lived  out  of  doors,  my  turbulence, 
my  superabundance  of  gaiety,  of  life,  my  passion 
for  movement,  would  tire  them  during  a  whole  year 
through. 

After  all,  there  were  only  my  grandparents, 
Blondeau,  my  friend  Charles,  and  Arthemise  to  love 
and  really  understand  me,  and — I  added  to  myself 
— to  put  up  with  me. 

I  had  missed  going  to  school  for  two  weeks. 
[214] 


MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

Grandmother  said  I  was  ill  and  it  was  believed, 
because  no  one  saw  me  about. 

However,  grandmother  finally  invoked  the  aid  of 
the  dean,  whom  I  liked  very  much,  because  he 
wished  me  to  make  my  first  communion  when  I  was 
ten  and  a  half  years  old,  and  not  to  wait  another 
year.  He  feared  my  father's  influence  over  me, 
which  fact,  of  course,  they  did  not  tell  me,  so  I 
was  very  flattered  to  be  the  youngest  and  the  most 
remarked  in  the  catechism  class.  I  was  as  tall  as 
the  tallest  girls  in  it. 

Grandmother  told  the  dean  the  truth  about  my 
passionate  love  of  my  garden,  of  my  extreme  de- 
light in  nature,  and  of  her  sudden  resolve  to  sell 
the  garden  on  account  of  the  exceptional  price  she 
received,  and  for  the  benefit  of  my  dot,  etc.,  etc. 

The  dean  came  and  knocked  at  my  door,  but  I 
did  not  open  it,  in  spite  of  the  touching  appeal  he 
made  to  me.  I  heard  grandmother  sobbing  out- 
side. From  that  moment  my  heart  was  softened 
and  my  rancour  fled,  but  a  bad  feeling  of  pride 
prevented  me  from  calling  them  back.  I  repented, 
however,  and  when  Arthemise  came  to  bring  me 
some  ink  for  which  I  had  asked,  I  opened  my  door 
and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  dean. 

The  moment  for  an  amiable  solution  had  come, 
but  in  order  to  save  my  dignity  I  pretended  to  let 
[215] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

myself  be  overcome  by  the  dean's  arguments,  and 
to  be  influenced  by  his  threats  not  to  receive  me 
any  longer  at  the  catechism  class  and  to  delay 
my  first  communion  until  the  following  year,  in 
1848. 

"  Come,"  he  said  to  me,  "  and  ask  your  grand- 
mother's pardon." 

"  No,  your  reverence,  do  not  exact  that  I  should 
ask  pardon.  I  cannot  do  it.  I  am  too  unhappy 
to  think  that  my  grandmother  has  sold  my  garden, 
and  that  I  have  lost  it  forever.  Besides,  it  is  not 
necessary.  You  will  see  that  my  grandmother  will 
be  only  too  glad  to  kiss  me." 

Grandmother  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, knowing  that  the  dean  had  gone  into  my 
room  and  having  learned  from  Arthemise  that  I 
had  listened  to  him  and  had  yielded. 

That  night,  at  dinner,  they  had  a  festival  in  my 
honour  without  saying  anything  to  me  about  my 
misbehaviour.  It  was  not  the  time  to  scold  me.  I 
was  not  at  all  consoled  for  the  loss  of  my  garden, 
for  my  flowers  and  fruit,  for  all  its  greenery,  or 
even  for  its  snow. 

I  did  not  see  the  first  flowers  blossom,  I  did  not 
gather  them  for  grandmother's  table,  nor  for  the 
little  white  vase  in  which  I  was  wont  to  arrange 
artistically  the  first  Bengal  roses. 

[216] 


MY  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

As  soon  as  the  fine  weather  came,  and  during  all 
that  spring,  the  workmen  were  pulling  down  the 
rampart  behind  the  high  garden-wall,  and  every- 
thing fell  in  together.  They  cut  a  new  street,  on 
which  the  large  principal  door  of  the  school  was 
to  open.  The  buildings  were  to  be  raised  only 
twenty  yards  from  our  courtyard;  the  green 
wooden  lattice  was  at  once  replaced  by  an  ugly 
wall. 

All  the  noise  of  the  demolition  of  the  garden 
broke  my  heart.  During  the  night,  the  moaning 
of  the  wind  made  me  think  that  I  heard  the  death- 
sighs  of  my  trees. 

One  Thursday  afternoon,  when  I  was  playing 
sadly  in  the  courtyard,  I  heard  a  sharp  cry,  a 
whistling,  and  a  sort  of  tearing  apart.  Some- 
thing was  certainly  being  torn  up  and  was  resist- 
ing and  groaning  with  all  its  power.  I  felt  it 
must  be  the  death-torture  of  my  apricot  tree. 
Formerly,  at  this  time  of  the  year  the  sap  would 
rise  to  the  smallest  twigs  on  its  branches,  and 
I  could  see  its  first  buds.  Now  they  were  tor- 
turing it. 

This  uprooting  of  my  apricot  tree  revived  all 
my  sorrow.  Behind  that  odious  wall  its  agony  was 
taking  place. 

I  imagined  that  I  could  see  devastation  ending 
[217] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

its  cruel  work.  They  were  digging  up  the  last 
vestiges  of  the  life  of  my  trees — their  roots — and 
they  were  levelling  the  ground.  I  suffered  from  it 
all  so  much  that  I  was  nearly  ill. 


[218] 


XXII 

MY  FIRST   RAILWAY   JOURNEY 

JHE  reconciliation  between  my  father  and  my 
grandmother  was  brought  about  by  a  friend 
of  my  uncle  Amedee  (an  uncle  whom  none  of  us  at 
Chauny  knew,  because  he  never  left  Africa  ) .  This 
friend  had  paid  my  uncle's  debts  in  time  to  pre- 
vent his  being  obliged  to  resign  his  commission  as 
an  officer. 

It  was  my  grandfather's  opinion  that  uncle 
Amedee  was  much  too  fond  of  amusement,  al- 
though very  brave  and  intelligent.  In  saying  this, 
however,  he  hastened  to  add : 

"  Campaign  life  impairs  the  most  rigid  private 
virtue." 

"  As  it  impaired  yours,"  said  grandmother. 

And  Blondeau  ended  the  conversation  by  saying : 

"  Peace  be  with  those  who  are  no  more !  " 

One  day  when  we  were  not  expecting  him,  my 
father  arrived,  looking  very  happy,  and  said  to 
grandmother  before  me : 

"  Will  you  give  me  Juliette  ?  I  wish  to  take  her 
on  a  long  journey." 

"  From  Chauny  to  Blerancourt?  " 
[219] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  No,  no,  much  farther." 

"  Where,  dear  Jean-Louis  ?  " 

"  To  Amiens,  Abbeville,  and  Verton.  I  will 
show  her  the  sea,  which  I  wish  to  behold  myself,  for 
I  have  never  seen  it.  And  better  still,  we  shall 
travel  to  it  on  the  railway." 

"  Ah,  no !  Not  in  the  railway  coaches !  "  cried 
my  grandmother.  "  I  am  afraid  of  those  mon- 
strosities, for  they  say  that  every  day,  every  time 
people  get  into  them,  there  are  accidents — persons 
killed  and  wounded.  Juliette  is  not  yet  old  enough 
to  guarantee  herself  from  danger  by  making  her 
will.  But  how  has  this  great  plan  come  about?  " 

"  You  remember,  dear  mother,  that  young  work- 
man, Lienard,  who  was  so  wonderfully  intelligent, 
in  whom  I  was  so  interested,  and  whom  I  had  edu- 
cated to  be  an  engineer?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  that  was  one  of  your  good  works. 
To  elevate  a  poor  man  from  a  low  position,  is  meri- 
torious and  useful,  in  a  different  manner  from  that 
of  torturing  one's  mind  to  discover  a  way  to  ruin 
the  middle  classes,  and  to  make  poverty  universal." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Jean-Louis?"  said  my 
father,  laughing. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  Lienard  has  made  his 
way  brilliantly.  He  is  now  the  head  of  a  division 
of  the  Boulogne-sur-Mer  railway.  He  has  six 
[220] 


MY  FIRST  RAILWAY  JOURNEY 

hundred  employes  and  workmen  under  him  to-day, 
and  he  wishes  me  to  see  him  in  the  exercise  of  a 
function  of  which  he  is  proud,  and  which  he  owes 
to  me.  He  has  invited  me  to  pass  a  fortnight, 
together  with  Juliette,  at  Verton.  Madame 
Lienard  is  devoted  to  our  daughter,  whom  she  al- 
ways comes  to  see  when  she  knows  she  is  at  Bleran- 
court,  doesn't  she,  Juliette?  " 

"  Grandmother,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  will  permit 
it,  I  should  be  delighted  to  take  a  long  journey 
with  papa.  It  is  my  dream  to  travel.  I  am  very 
fond  of  Madame  Lienard."  And  stooping  down  to 
her  ear,  I  added :  "  And  besides,  grandmother,  it 
will  distract  me  from  my  great  sorrow." 

"  Yes,  Juliette,  I  think  so,  too,"  she  answered. 
"  Your  father  must  leave  you  with  me  for  two 
weeks  to  prepare  your  wardrobe,  for  I  wish  you  to 
have  everything  you  may  need,  and  then  you  shall 
go  to  see  the  sea." 

When  my  father  had  left,  grandmother  said  to 
me :  "I  must  obtain  a  dispensation  from  the  cure 
so  that  you  may  leave  the  catechism  class  without 
having  your  first  communion  delayed  in  conse- 
quence. But  I  think  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
about  it." 

The  entire  town  of  Chauny  was  interested  in 
this  journey.  My  grandfather  told  how  it  had 
[221  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

come  about  to  all  who  wished  to  hear  it.  At  school 
I  was  much  questioned,  and  in  the  same  degree  that 
I  had  been  humiliated  at  having  the  girls  say  to 
me :  "  It  seems  that  your  grandmother  has  sold 
your  famous  garden  which  you  thought  as  fine  as  a 
kingdom,"  just  so  proud  was  I  in  thinking  of  all 
the  interesting  things  that  I  should  have  to  relate 
to  my  little  friends  on  my  return. 

The  journey  from  Paris  to  Amiens  was,  of 
course,  by  diligence. 

We  stopped  an  entire  day  at  Saint-Quentin  to 
see  my  relatives,  the  Raincourts,  to  whom  I  talked 
of  my  dear  aunts  and  my  grandmother,  and  who 
were  happy  to  know  that  their  cousins  were  recon- 
ciled. 

At  Amiens  we  stopped  again  to  see  other  Rain- 
courts.  I  visited  the  cathedral,  and  the  impression 
I  received  of  its  power  and  grandeur  remains  with 
me  still.  My  cousins  took  us  to  the  opera.  They 
played  Charles  VI.  I  was  somewhat  bewildered  at 
the  immensity  of  the  amphitheatre,  but  I  remember 
the  scenes  represented,  the  ballet,  and,  above  all, 
the  extraordinary  noise  of  the  mad  applause  of  the 
entire  audience  when  they  sang  the  air,  "  No,  no, 
never  in  France,  never  shall  England  reign ! " 

Like  all  good  Picardines,  I  detested  the  English, 
and  I  clapped  my  hands  with  as  much  enthusiasm 

[000  "i 
<%<v/v  J 


MY  FIRST  RAILWAY  JOURNEY 

as  the  other  spectators,  at  the  three  repetitions  of 
"  No,  no,  never  in  France !  " 

I  had  a  headache  for  three  days  from  the  effects 
of  that  evening.  The  sound  of  the  orchestra  had 
bruised  my  temples. 

I  saw  a  railway  for  the  first  time  at  Amiens. 
Young  people  of  eleven  of  the  present  day  cannot 
imagine  what  it  was  then  to  a  girl  ten  and  a  half 
years  old,  to  hear  the  ear-splitting  whistle,  the 
groaning  of  the  machine,  to  get  into  high,  fragile- 
looking  boxes,  to  see  the  smoke,  the  blackness  of  the 
machinist  and  his  aid,  looking,  I  thought,  like 
devils.  I  was  very  much  frightened. 

Lienard  came  to  meet  us  at  Amiens,  and,  thanks 
to  him,  we  had  a  coach  to  ourselves.  My  father 
was  obliged  to  scold  me,  for  I  became  very  pale  as 
the  train  started.  Contrary  to  my  usual  habit,  I 
was  silent  for  a  long  time,  not  curious  and  asking 
no  questions. 

I  held  on  with  both  hands  to  the  seat,  so  little  did 
I  feel  secure  with  the  odd  movement.  But  after  a 
time  I  grew  bolder,  and  kneeling  on  the  seat  I  tried 
to  look  out  of  the  window  to  see  the  houses  and 
trees  flying  behind  us  so  quickly. 

"  Juliette !  "  Lienard  cried  to  me,  "  don't  lean 
out  in  that  way.  This  morning,  under  the  tunnel 
which  we  are  going  to  enter,  a  lady  did  what  you 
[223] 


were  doing  and  she  had  her  head  cut  off  by  a  cross 
train." 

I  threw  myself  back  in  the  seat,  and  when  we 
entered  the  tunnel  a  great  chill  shook  me.  I 
thought  I  saw  the  body  of  the  headless  lady  thrown 
into  the  coach! 

Decidedly,  I  preferred  diligences  to  railways. 


[224] 


xxm 

MY    FIRST    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    SEA 

|T  Abbeville  we  found  another  relative,  the 
daughter  of  our  cousin  at  Amiens.  In  ten 
minutes  I  was  the  best  of  friends  with  her  two  chil- 
dren, and  I  would  have  liked  to  continue  playing 
with  them  there,  or  to  take  them  with  me  to  Verton, 
to  the  house  of  Madame  Lienard,  who  had  no  chil- 
dren. 

The  railway  between  Abbeville  and  Verton  was 
not  yet  completed.  At  Verton  was  the  branch 
that  our  friend  Lienard  was  finishing.  I  said 
good-bye  to  my  cousins,  very  sadly,  as  I  got  into 
the  carriage,  but  I  forgot  them  immediately,  as 
my  mind  was  distracted  by  the  route  over  which 
we  were  travelling.  I  breathed  for  the  first  time 
the  tonic  air  of  the  sea,  and  it  intoxicated  me.  My 
father  was  in  ecstasies  over  everything,  and  I  took 
a  noisy  share  in  his  delight. 

Verton,  the  object  of  our  great  journey,  had 
been  described  to  us  by  our  friend  Lienard. 

"  Verton  is  situated,"  he  said,  "  between  Mon- 
treuil,  built  on  an  eminence,  and  the  hamlet  of 
Berck,  which  is  on  the  downs  quite  near  the  sea- 
16  [  225  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

shore,  and  it  is  the  prettiest  village  in  Pas-de- 
Calais.  Along  its  straight,  well-laid-out,  sloping 
streets,  which  the  rain  cannot  soak  into,  are  dainty 
houses,  rivalling  one  another  in  cleanliness  and 
brightness.  Berck  is  a  miserable  place,  inhabited 
solely  by  j>oor  fisher  folk,  but  I  am  sure  the  rail- 
way will  make  it  eventually  a  popular  seaside  re- 
sort, and  I  have  bought  land  there  which  certainly 
will  become  very  valuable.  You  should  buy  some, 
Lambert,  for  Juliette's  dot" 

"  Good  Heavens !  With  what  could  I  buy 
land  ?  "  said  father,  laughing. 

"  Why,  your  mother-in-law  has  just  sold " 

"  Be  quiet,  Lienard,"  I  cried,  "  don't  speak  of 
my  dot,  you  make  me  unhappy.  Let  me  forget 
it." 

My  father  and  Lienard,  puzzled  at  my  words, 
wished  to  know  what  they  meant.  They  obtained 
only  this  answer: 

"  I  don't  want  any  dot!     I  don't  want  any !  " 

"  You  have  commendable  principles,"  said  fath- 
er. "  A  girl  should  not  be  forced  to  give  money 
in  order  to  be  married." 

Suddenly  Lienard  exclaimed: 

"  There  is  the  sea !  " 

Papa  and  I  looked,  holding  each  other's  hands. 
It  was  a  superb  day,  but  a  high  wind  came  from 
[226] 


MY  FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  SEA 

the  sea,  which  seemed  borne  in  by  the  rising 
tide. 

The  seemingly  endless,  swelling  flood  we  gazed 
upon  advanced  towards  us,  the  waves  looking  like 
swaying  monsters,  ever  growing  larger.  The  foam 
alone  reached  us ;  the  sea  was  held  back  by  the  im- 
movable shore. 

"  I  made  you  take  this  great  journey  so  that 
you  should  see  this  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Li£n- 
ard,  delighted  at  our  wonderment.  "  Well,  Ju- 
liette, you,  who  are  astonished  at  nothing,  what 
do  you  say  of  it  ?  " 

I  had  no  desire  to  speak.  Enormous  waves, 
with  movements  like  serpents,  broke  into  snowy 
foam  on  the  beach,  at  first  with  a  colossal  crash, 
striking  the  pebbles,  then  with  a  soft  roaring  of 
the  water  as  it  rushed  over  the  round  stones. 

The  sea  was  so  immense,  it  extended  so  far  be- 
neath the  sky,  that  I  asked  myself  how  it  was  that 
all  that  mass  of  heavy  water  did  not  capsize  the 
earth ;  but  I  realised  that  it  was  infantile  to  think 
this,  and  that  I  must  not  say  it  aloud,  because  then 
I  should  probably  receive  a  very  simple  answer 
which  would  prove  my  stupidity  or  my  ignorance. 
I  had  never  thought  of  the  sea  as  a  phenomenal 
thing.  I  had  not  imagined  it  very  large,  but  now 
it  appeared  to  me  immense  and  limitless.  I  was 
[227] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

lost  in  contemplating  it,  dominated  by  it  to  such  a 
degree  that  I  could  not  express  the  astonishment 
I  felt. 

"  Papa,"  I  said,  as  we  were  leaving  the  sea,  "  I 
seem  to  see  the  shaggy  manes  of  Neptune's  horses 
on  the  crests  of  the  waves." 

"  And  I  am  thinking  of  Homer  all  the  while," 
father  answered  me. 

We  left  the  seashore,  talking  of  it  on  our 
way,  and  at  last  we  saw  Verton,  with  the  old  castle 
overlooking  it.  We  entered  the  village,  where  the 
people,  curious  at  our  coming,  were  on  their  door- 
steps. Lienard  was  the  most  important  person  of 
the  place,  excepting  the  owner  of  the  castle,  who 
lived  on  the  second  story. 

"  The  Comte  de  Lafontaine,  my  landlord," 
Lienard  said  to  my  father,  "  is  a  former  cavalry 
officer.  I  do  not  know  a  more  charming  man.  To 
be  sure,  he  is  not  a  republican,  like  you  and  my- 
self, my  dear  Lambert,  but  with  that  exception,  he  is 
perfect." 

Lienard  was  my  father's  devoted  pupil,  and  fol- 
lowed his  teaching  in  everything. 

The  castle  was  reached  by  the  principal  street 

of  Verton,  as  one  came  from  Abbeville — a  street 

which  ended  directly  at  the  park  gates,  the  largest 

one  of  which  was  surmounted  with  the  heraldic 

[  228  ] 


escutcheon  of  the  Lafontaine  family.  The  inscrip- 
tion on  the  escutcheon  interested  my  father  so 
much,  and  was  the  subject  of  such  a  long  discus- 
sion between  himself  and  Lienard  that  I  found  it  in 
my  notes  of  travel  which  I  kept  for  grandmother. 

Oh!  they  were  very  succinct  notes,  of  which  I 
can  give  an  example: 

"  Verton,  on  a  hill — gay  little  houses — old  castle 
overlooking  it — two  stories — written  above  princi- 
pal door  in  a  circle — Tel  fieri  qui  ne  tue  pas.  Very, 
very  large  park  and  a  farm,  where  I  amuse  myself 
all  the  time." 

With  my  memory  to  aid  me,  and  the  long,  oft- 
repeated  recitals  of  the  events  of  my  journey,  the 
impressions  of  that  time  were  deeply  engraved  in 
my  mind,  enabling  me  now  to  recall  the  details  of 
this  experience  with  all  the  more  facility  because 
one  of  Lienard's  employes,  placed  with  him  by  my 
father,  still  lives,  and,  through  him  I  have  been 
able  to  verify  the  accuracy  of  my  recollections. 

The  park  belonging  to  the  castle  seemed  to  me 
very  large,  and  I  amused  myself,  with  my  different 
friends  in  the  household,  by  walking  and  playing 
in  it  for  hours. 

The  castle  of  Verton  is  situated  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  park,  and  fronts  the  sea.  The  view 
from  the  second  story  is  admirable.  At  night  one 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

can  see  the  lighthouse  of  Berek.  I  never  went  to 
bed  without  looking  at  the  great  lantern  lighting 
up  the  sea. 

Madame  Lienard  did  everything  to  please  me, 
and  spoiled  me  as  if  I  belonged  to  her.  The  Comte 
de  Lafontaine  inspired  me  with  sudden  affection, 
for  he  took  me  seriously  and  wished  to  be  my 
friend.  I  made  several  morning  rendezvous  with 
him  in  the  park,  and  confided  to  him  the  great  se- 
cret of  my  life — my  inconsolable  sorrow  at  the 
loss  of  my  large  garden.  I  talked  to  him  of  my 
trees  with  tears  in  my  eyes;  he  seemed  touched, 
and  I  remember  how  grateful  I  was  to  him  when 
he  answered: 

"  Love  my  trees  a  little  during  your  stay  here, 
as  if  they  were  your  own." 

I  had  loved  Monsieur  Lafontaine's  trees  before 
he  said  this.  They  were  the  brothers  of  my  own 
trees.  When  I  shut  my  eyes  in  certain  paths,  I 
seemed  to  see  my  lost  ones.  They  grew  warm  and 
shone  in  the  sun  like  mine;  they  made  the  same 
noise  in  the  wind.  How  very  unhappy  I  was,  to 
be  sure,  to  have  my  great  garden  no  longer ! 

The  cows,  the  sheep,  the  horses  and  dogs  of  the 

farm  interested  me  greatly.     I  wanted  them  all  to 

grow  fond  of  me,  to  know  and  love  me.     I  was,  as 

a  child,  as  desirous  to  please  animals  as  people. 

[230] 


MY  FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  SEA 

There  were  several  donkeys,  but  they  did  not  bray 
like  Roussot,  and  they  disdained  my  advances,  de- 
voted as  they  were  to  the  farm  children. 

Our  first  long  excursion  was  to  Berck.  After 
having  left  the  Abbeville  road  and  entered  that  of 
Berck,  we  saw  scarcely  any  more  cultivated  fields. 
It  looked  to  me  like  the  desert,  as  I  imagined  it. 
There  were  hillocks  of  shifting  sand,  amid  which 
were  very  small  hamlets.  Berck  came  last,  and 
was  the  most  lamentable  of  all.  The  village  was 
composed  of  miserable  huts,  inhabited  by  poor 
sailor-fishermen,  whom  Lienard  called  "  primitive 
men,"  and  who  lived  solely  by  the  product  of  their 
fishing.  These  huts,  spread  out  at  distances,  were 
in  a  forlorn  condition  and  falling  to  pieces. 

One  thing  struck  me  at  Berck:  the  market,  like 
that  at  Blerancourt,  where  the  weavers  of  the 
neighbourhood  brought  for  sale  the  rolls  of  linen 
they  had  woven. 

My  father  thought  the  beach  of  Berck  magnifi- 
cent, and  he  said  that  hospital  refuges  could  cer- 
tainly be  built  there,  for  the  gentle  and  regular 
slope  of  the  sands  down  to  the  sea  would  be  an  ex- 
cellent place  for  children  to  play. 

"  The  people  of  the  place,  although  very  rude 
and  ignorant,  are  good  and  are  hard  workers," 
Lienard  said.  "  They  are  excellent  workmen.  We 
[231  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

are  blessed  and  loved  as  benefactors  in  all  the  re- 
gion— except  at  Montreuil,  because  we  bring  more 
wealth  here.  They  curse  us,"  he  continued,  "  at 
Montreuil,  the  principal  town  of  the  country,  for 
the  making  of  the  railway  will  deprive  it  of  its  ani- 
mation. Crossed  by  the  Calais  route,  as  it  is  now, 
all  the  traffic  passes  through  it;  but  before  six 
months  have  passed,  nothing  will  go  that  way, 
neither  travellers  nor  merchandise.  Its  triple  line 
of  fortifications  alone  will  remain,  isolating  it  more 
than  ever." 


[232] 


XXIV 

I    BECEIVE     A    HANDSOME     GIFT 

|HE  end  of  your  journey  must  not  be  Ver- 
ton,  my  dear  Lambert,"  said  Lienard  one 
morning  to  my  father.  "  I  wish  you  to  inspect 
the  whole  line.  We  will  go  to  Boulogne-sur-Mer, 
and  travel  over  a  certain  portion  of  the  route  in 
trucks.  Then  you  will  have  shown  to  Juliette, 
Amiens — the  most  beautiful  town  of  our  Picardy 
— and  Boulogne,  one  of  its  finest  sea-ports." 

My  father  made  no  objection.  The  thought  of 
seeing  big  ships  delighted  me.  We  were  to  return 
to  Verton  after  visiting  Boulogne  and  leave  from 
there  for  Chauny.  The  railway  train,  with  its  little 
coaches  open  overhead,  pleased  me  marvellously, 
but  the  large,  locked-up  coaches  from  which  one 
could  not  get  out  except  at  the  employes'  will, 
seemed  like  prisons  to  me,  and  I  was  honestly  afraid 
of  the  tunnels,  in  which  heads  were  sometimes  cut 
off. 

All  the  great  cities  I  have  seen  later  in  my  nu- 
merous travels  over  Europe  have  interested  me  in 
a  different  manner,  and  I  have  admired  them  for  a 
thousand  complex  reasons,  but  none  has  left  in  my 
[233] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

memory  a  more  deeply  engraved  impression  than 
B  oulogne-sur-Mer . 

We  were  Lienard's  guests,  and  he  treated  us  like 
lords,  in  one  of  the  best  hotels  of  the  place.  I  saw 
the  sea  all  day  long,  and  I,  who  was  so  fond  of 
sleeping,  would  get  up  to  look  at  it  under  the  star- 
light. I  saw  it  one  night  by  full  moonlight. 

"  Drops  of  gold  shrank  and  expanded,  crackled, 
leapt  in  playful  sparkles  on  the  water's  surface,  as 
if  to  encircle,  in  a  frame  of  moving  gold,  Phoebe's 
beautiful  face  as  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  sea." 

I  found  these  metaphors  in  one  of  my  poems 
written  at  that  time,  and,  incredible  as  it  may 
seem,  I  still  remember  these  unformed  verses,  which 
I  did  not  dare  to  repeat  to  my  father,  and  which  I 
kept  for  the  enraptured  admiration  of  my  grand- 
parents, Blondeau,  and  my  friend  Charles. 

The  movement  of  the  boats  around  the  pier  de- 
lighted me  so  much  I  wished  never  to  leave  the 
place,  and  my  father  was  obliged  to  scold  me  some- 
times and  to  drag  me  after  him  to  the  house. 

I  ate  my  first  oyster  at  Boulogne.  All  my  fam- 
ily were  extremely  fond  of  the  fat  oysters  that 
came  from  the  North.  In  winter,  when  my  mother 
and  father  came  to  Chauny,  they  usually  selected 
the  day  on  which  the  fish-wagon  arrived.  This 
wagon,  driven  at  full  speed,  and  which  had  relays 
[234] 


I  RECEIVE  A  HANDSOME  GIFT 

like  the  post-wagon,  brought  to  Chauny,  on  Fri- 
day mornings,  the  fish  caught  on  the  night  of 
Wednesday  to  Thursday. 

Every  Friday  during  the  oyster  season,  a  bas- 
ket containing  twelve  dozen  oysters  was  brought  to 
my  grandmother's.  My  grandfather  and  father 
each  ate  four  dozen.  My  grandmother  and  mother 
would  eat  two  dozen,  and  Blondeau,  when  he  was 
present,  would  take  his  dozen,  here  and  there,  from 
the  portions  of  the  others.  Was  it  because  I  saw 
them  eat  such  quantities  that  I  could  never  swal- 
low one?  My  reluctance  absolutely  grieved  my 
family. 

Lienard  and  I  went  shopping  while  my  father 
talked  with  some  democratic-socialist  republicans 
whom  he  had  discovered.  I  wanted  to  take  to  all 
my  friends  many  of  those  little  souvenirs  one  finds 
at  seaside  places,  things  utterly  unknown  at 
Chauny,  and  I  had  with  me,  in  order  to  gratify 
this  wish,  all  the  money  given  to  me  by  grand- 
parents and  Blondeau  to  spend  on  my  journey.  My 
purse,  confided  to  Lienard's  care,  who  bargained 
and  paid  for  all  my  purchases,  must,  I  thought, 
after  calculating  the  amount  expended,  be  very 
nearly  empty.  So,  when  my  father  promised  me 
one  morning  a  louis  if  I  would  eat  an  oyster,  I  did 
my  best  to  please  him,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
[235] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

earn  four  large  crowns.  I  swallowed  one  oyster, 
and  afterwards  others  followed  in  great  numbers, 
for  I  grew  to  like  them. 

I  picked  up  quantities  of  shells,  and  I  would 
have  liked  to  carry  many  more  away.  I  bought 
an  immense  covered  basket,  which  I  took  with  me 
wherever  I  went,  and  never  left  it  for  a  moment 
during  my  return  voyage,  in  spite  of  the  supplica- 
tion of  my  father,  who  tried  every  persuasive 
means  possible  to  rid  himself  of  the  trouble  of 
looking  after  it. 

I  went  on  the  beach  at  Wimereux,  where  Prince 
Louis  Napoleon  landed  in  such  grotesque  fashion. 
I  saw  the  great  Emperor's  column,  and  thought  of 
my  grandfather  and  my  godmother. 

My  father  spoke  to  Lienard  and  to  me  of  "  the 
man  of  Strasburg  and  Boulogne,"  and  of  his  an- 
cestor, "  the  man  of  the  Brumaire."  He  was  more 
indulgent  towards  the  nephew  than  towards  the 
uncle,  whom  he  thus  defined: 

"  The  political  juggler  of  the  Revolution, 
whose  final  number  of  conquests,  after  the  sacrifice 
of  millions  of  men,  was  inferior  to  the  conquests 
won  by  the  fourteen  armies  of  the  Republic." 

Napoleon  I.  was  my  father's  special  aversion. 
He  spoke  of  him  with  hatred,  as  of  a  criminal.  I 
knew  some  scathing  and  virulent  poems  written  by 
[236] 


I  RECEIVE  A  HANDSOME  GIFT 

my  father  on  the  "  Modern  Caesar,"  and  when  I 
recited  them,  I  ended  by  naming  their  author: 
Jean-Louis  Lambert. 

My  father  had  bought  a  tilbury  as  we  passed 
through  Amiens,  the  carriage-makers  of  the  capi- 
tal of  our  province  being  "  renowned,"  as  they 
then  expressed  it. 

What  was  his  astonishment,  as  we  left  the  rail- 
way station  on  our  return  to  Amiens,  to  see  a  very 
handsome  horse  harnessed  to  his  tilbury,  instead  of 
the  hired  one  which  was  to  take  it  to  Chauny. 
Lienard  had  accompanied  us  there. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  my  father,  accent- 
uating these  words  with  feeling,  "  I  beg  of  you 
to  accept  the  little  horse,  as  a  small  proof  of  my 
eternal  gratitude." 

My  father,  who  delighted  to  give,  but  hated  to 
accept  things,  refused  bluntly;  but  Lienard's  dis- 
appointment was  so  great,  and  I  saw  his  eyes  so 
full  of  tears,  that  I  sought  for  a  way  to  make  my 
father  yield. 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  horse,  Lienard?  "  I  said. 
"  I  think  it  very  pretty  and  I  will  take  it." 

Mutually  embarrassed  and  grieved  a  moment 
before,  my  father  and  Lienard  were  much  amused 
at  my  intervention. 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  will  give  it  to  you,"  replied  Lien- 
[237] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ard.  "  It  is  yours,  and  I  am  not  afraid  now  that 
your  father  will  take  it  from  you." 

I  adored  the  feeling  of  being  important.  But 
to  have  overcome  this  difficult  situation  did  not 
suffice  me. 

"  Now,  since  I  have  a  horse  and  papa  has  a  til- 
bury, I  wish  to  return  to  Chauny  in  it  and  not  in 
the  diligence,"  I  added. 

"  But  it  will  take  us  three  days  instead  of  one," 
said  father. 

"  Oh !  papa,  shall  you  really  find  three  days  quite 
alone  with  your  daughter  too  long?  You  will  tell 
me  a  lot  of  things,  and  I,  also,  will  tell  you  as 
many.  It  will  be  so  amusing  to  travel  in  a  carriage, 
like  gipsies." 

"  Do  as  she  wishes,  dear  Lambert,"  said  Lienard. 
"  Come,  get  into  your  carriage  and  start.  I  will 
send  you  your  packages  by  the  diligence." 

"  Papa !  papa !  do,  I  beg  of  you,  let  us  be 
off!" 

"  Has  the  horse  eaten  ? "  Lienard  asked  the 
groom. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  can  go  for  five  hours  without  need- 
ing anything  more." 

"  Be  off !  be  off ! "  our  friend  cried  gaily,  as  he 
lifted  me  into  the  tilbury  after  kissing  me. 

My  father  and  Lienard  kissed  each  other,  like 
[238] 


I  RECEIVE  A  HANDSOME  GIFT 

the  loving  friends  they  were,  and  father  got  into 
the  carriage. 

"  Where  is  the  state  high-road  ?  "  he  asked  the 
groom. 

Lienard  replied: 

"  This  boy  will  take  one  of  the  carriages  at  the 
station  and  accompany  you  until  nightfall,  to  see 
that  Juliette's  horse  behaves  itself.  I  will  go  to- 
morrow morning  to  his  master's,  and  will  get  news 
of  you  there.  Good-bye,  good-bye;  a  pleasant 
journey! " 

A  small  valise  bought  by  my  father  at  Boulogne, 
held  our  toilet  articles.  My  famous  basket  was  at 
our  feet,  our  luggage  ticket  given  to  Lienard,  and 
off  we  started. 


[239] 


XXV 


OUR    HOMEWARD    JOURNEY 

detail  of  that  delightful  journey  is 
still  present  to  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  undertaking  something  tremendous,  which 
was  going  to  last  for  an  indefinite  time. 

The  young,  spirited  horse  delighted  my  father 
and  me.  He  took  up  all  our  attention  at  first. 
We  looked  at  nothing  else.  Ah!  what  was  his 
name? 

The  groom  told  us  it  was  Coq  or  Cock.  He 
didn't  know  whether  it  was  "  Coq  "  or  the  English 
name. 

"  *  No !  no,  never  in  France,  never  shall  England 
reign ! '  "  I  cried,  recalling  the  air  I  had  heard  in 
Charles  VI.  "  It  shall  be  Coq." 

Coq  almost  flew  along  the  road.  After  a  while 
the  groom  left  us,  telling  us  the  names  of  the  vil- 
lages and  the  post-relays  where  we  were  to  stop 
during  the  day,  or  were  to  sleep  at  night. 

My  father  and  I  recalled  our  longest  drives 
around  Blerancourt,  but  they  were  not  like  this  one 
— a  real  journey.  He  laughed  at  all  my  observa- 
tions and  reflections,  and  said  often  to  me :  "  Ah ! 
[240] 


OUR  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY 

you  are,  indeed,  my  daughter.  You  resemble  me 
more  than  anyone  else." 

We  had  left  Amiens  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  had  not  yet,  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  thought  of  making  our  first  halt.  We 
had  brought  some  fruit  and  cakes,  and  so  long  as 
our  handsome  Coq  was  not  tired  we  determined  to 
continue  our  way. 

"  Juliette,"  said  father  to  me,  at  a  time  when 
Coq  was  going  slower,  "  have  you  never  asked  your- 
self whether  I  could  indefinitely  submit  to  our  sep- 
aration, if  I  could  always  bear  the  pain  of  seeing 
your  mind  fashioned  by  others  than  myself?  My 
greatest  ambition  is  to  make  your  mind  the  off- 
spring of  my  own.  It  will  come  some  day ;  it  must 
be  so." 

I  answered  nothing.  I  said  over  to  myself  my 
father's  phrase :  "  Make  your  mind  the  offspring 
of  my  own,"  and  I  thought  to  myself  that  as  I  was 
his  daughter,  my  whole  self  should  be  his  also ;  but 
then,  being  grandchild  of  my  grandmother,  whom 
I  adored,  how  could  I  be  at  once  all  my  grand- 
mother's and  all  my  father's?  The  feeling  I  had 
of  the  difficulty  brought  about  by  my  double  love 
for  my  grandmother  and  my  father,  the  thought 
of  sharing  myself  between  them,  filled  me  with 
sadness,  and  my  heart  ached  as  I  thought  I  should 
17  [  241  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

feel  in  the  future,  more  and  more  deeply,  the  sor- 
row I  might  cause  each  when  I  left  either  of  them, 
because  each  would  feel  when  I  returned  that  I 
would  come  back  with  my  heart  and  mind  filled 
with  the  one  whom  I  had  left.  I  was  still  angry 
at  my  grandmother  for  having  sold  my  garden. 
The  large  house  at  Chauny,  which  formerly 
pleased  me  more  than  the  small  one  at  Blerancourt, 
seemed  like  a  prison  now.  The  yard,  full  of 
flowers,  had  been  gay  only  because  it  preceded 
the  garden;  cut  off  from  it,  it  would  look,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  great  wall  they  were  build- 
ing, like  a  little  plot  resembling  those  in  the 
graveyards. 

My  father  thought  also  of  many  sad  things; 
our  gaiety  now  ran  away  from  us,  and  we  could 
not  regain  it.  All  my  childhood  spent  in  that  be- 
loved garden  came  back  to  me:  the  springtime, 
with  the  rows  of  violets  along  the  walls  at  its  end ; 
the  summer,  with  the  baskets  of  strawberries  that 
I  would  run  to  pick  myself,  as  we  were  sitting 
down  at  table ;  fruits  of  all  kinds,  whose  growth  I 
watched  with  such  interest,  and  which  I  kept  tast- 
ing— apples,  pears,  plums,  cherries,  and  apricots, 
enjoying  the  greatest  delight  a  child  can  have — 
that  of  eating  to  its  fill  all  kinds  of  fruit  through- 
out the  whole  year. 


OUR  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY 

"  Papa,  do  you  approve  grandmother's  having 
sold  her  garden  ?  "  I  asked  him  suddenly,  deter- 
mined all  at  once  to  confide  my  sorrow  to  him,  with- 
out speaking  of  the  dot. 

"  Why,  yes,  because  she  received  a  good  price 
for  it." 

"  So,  in  your  opinion  she  has  done  well  ?  " 

"  Without  doubt — she  would  never  have  found 
such  a  good  chance  again.  Perhaps,  besides  the 
question  of  money,  she  decided  to  do  it  a  little  for 
your  sake." 

"Oh!  that  is  too  much!" 

"  Why  ?  You  will  have  only  a  few  steps  to 
take  to  go  to  your  school.  She  will  even  be 
able  to  see  you  play  from  a  wing  she  wishes  to 
build." 

"  Then  grandmother  is  going  to  make  the  little 
yard  still  smaller?  Well,  papa,  I  cannot  tell  you 
the  pain  all  this  gives  me.  They  have  taken  away 
the  paths  where  I  used  to  walk  and  play,  my  trees, 
all  that  I  loved  in  immaterial  things;  they  have 
deprived  me  of  the  happiness  of  looking  at  grow- 
ing leaves,  of  studying  how  plants  bud,  how  blos- 
soms become  fruit;  they  have  prevented  me  from 
listening  to  the  stirring  and  putting  forth  of  all 
that  has  life  in  it,  and  from  hearing  the  sigh,  fol- 
lowed by  cold  silence,  of  that  which  dies.  To  me, 
[243] 


papa,  the  sun  is  a  divine  being  to  whom  I  speak 
and  who  answers  me  in  written  signs,  which  I  see 
in  the  rays  of  its  light.  I  will  make  you  half  close 
your  eyes  at  midday,  and  will  show  you  the  shin- 
ing signs,  the  golden  writing.  The  moon  follows 
me  as  I  walk,  and  I  feel  that  it  is  a  friend.  I  as- 
sure you,  papa,  I  have  heard  the  earth  burst  with  a 
little  sound  above  the  asparagus  heads,  or  when  the 
seeds  that  have  been  sown  sprout  forth.  I  do  not 
know  how  to  express  all  this  to  you,  or  how  to  ex- 
plain these  things,  but  if  I  love  to  read,  if  books 
instruct  me  so  greatly — above  all,  if  travels  make 
the  world  larger  to  me — I  think,  papa,  I  have 
learned  a  great  deal  in  my  garden  about  all  small 
things." 

My  father  listened  to  me,  his  eyes  fixed  on  mine ; 
he  held  the  reins  so  loosely  in  his  hands  that  sud- 
denly, feeling  gay,  or  perhaps  made  nervous  by 
fatigue,  Coq  began  to  behave  badly  for  the  first 
time.  A  stroke  of  the  whip  calmed  him. 

"  This  Coq,"  said  my  father,  "  is  unworthy  of 
too  much  confidence."  Then  he  added : 

"  Go  on  talking,  Juliette,  dear,  go  on.  You  do 
not  know  the  pleasure  you  give  me.  You  love  nat- 
ure as  I  love  it ;  you  feel  it,  you  poetise  it  as  I  do. 
Ah !  old  Homer  is  giving  back  to  me  to-day  what 
I  gave  to  him  in  teaching  you  to  love  him.  It  is 
[244] 


OUR  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY 

he  who  has  given  you  the  love  of  immaterial  things. 
You  will  be  a  heathen  some  day,  I  am  certain  of 
it." 

"  Oh,  papa !  what  an  abominable  thing  to  say ! 
Don't  repeat  it,  especially  before  grandmother — 
it  would  give  her  too  much  pain,  and,  besides,  it 
isn't  true;  it  was  not  the  dryads,  the  nymphs,  the 
homodryads,  that  I  saw  and  listened  to  in  my  gar- 
den; it  was  really  the  trees,  the  plants,  and  the 
fruits." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  father,  "  I  have  promised 
your  grandmother  and  your  mother  to  let  you 
make  your  first  communion  as  they  desire.  They 
have  taken  your  childhood  from  me,  let  them  keep 
it;  but  your  youth  shall  belong  to  me,  and  we 
will  talk  again  about  all  this.  I  have  now,  to  calm 
me  and  to  make  me  wait  patiently,  the  anticipation 
of  the  happy  days  that  I  foresee,  and  the  result 
of  all  that  you,  my  dear  Juliette,  have  just  been 
saying  to  me." 

"  Having  my  garden  no  longer,  I  must  forget 
all  that  I  loved  and  learned  in  it,  so  as  not  to  suffer 
too  much  in  having  lost  it,"  I  replied.  "  I  have 
so  many  dead  things  to  weep  over,"  I  continued, 
"  I  have  heard  so  many  trees  sigh  and  utter  their 
last  cry  when  they  were  cut  down,  that  in  think- 
ing of  it,  I  seem  to  hear  them  again  and  my  heart 
[245] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

aches,  for  it  is  dreadful  to  have  destroyed  so  many 
of  those  old  companions  that  gave  us  such  delicious 
fruit  to  make  us  love  them,  and  it  is  a  crime  to 
have  covered  with  gravel  the  good  earth  which 
would  always  have  brought  forth  the  seeds  planted 
in  it  and  borne  harvests." 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  my  father  stopped 
at  a  post-relay  at  a  large,  clean,  and  bright-look- 
ing inn,  where  I  went  to  see  a  dozen  chickens  roasted 
on  a  spit  in  the  kitchen.  The  travellers  by  dili- 
gence dined  there. 

When  my  father  put  me  to  sleep  in  one  of  the 
huge  beds  in  our  room,  I  was  feverish,  and  talked 
all  night  of  my  garden.  He  prevented  me  from 
speaking  of  it  the  next  day,  and  told  me  some 
lovely  stories  of  Greece  which  he  had  not  yet  re- 
lated to  me. 

Our  journey  ended  without  further  incident, 
and  I  found  grandmother  wildly  happy  at  seeing 
me  again ;  but  as  we  had  arrived  late  at  night,  and 
as  I  was  tired,  they  put  me  to  bed  at  once.  Grand- 
mother wished  that  I  should  sleep  near  her  that 
night,  as  my  father  had  spoken  of  my  fever,  and 
the  door  having  been  left  open,  I  heard  him  say  to 
my  grandparents: 

"  I  don't  think  she  can  ever  be  consoled  for  hav- 
ing lost  her  garden." 

[246] 


OUR  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY 

"  As  it  is  clear  that  she  will  marry  a  country 
gentleman,"  said  grandfather,  laughing,  "  and, 
as  the  education  she  is  receiving  from  her  aunts 
will  probably  incline  her  to  marry  some  perfect 
Roussot,  she  will  be  able  after  her  honeymoon  to 
treat  herself  to  some  trees  and  grounds,  so  we  need 
not  pity  her  present  unhappiness  in  an  exagger- 
ated manner." 

My  grandparents  had  quarrelled,  as  usual,  dur- 
ing my  absence.  I  had  the  proof  of  it  in  grand- 
mother's answer.  The  "  they  "  and  "  one  "  which 
I  had  nearly  banished,  had  returned  to  their  con- 
versation. 

"  One  is  always  joking,"  she  said,  "  even  about 
what  touches  me  the  most — Juliette's  sorrow.  Since 
I  have  seen  how  much  she  suffers  from  being  de- 
prived of  her  garden,  I  reproach  myself  bitterly 
for  having  taken  it  from  her.  One  should  under- 
stand that,  and  not  laugh,  when  one  knows  that 
I  would  not  have  run  the  risk  of  giving  pain  to 
Juliette  without  having  been  moved  by  a  feeling 
which  was  in  her  interest,  but  which  I  cannot  ex- 
press to  everybody." 

"  Well,  well,"  grandfather  replied,  "  one  has  no 
need  of  a  lesson;  one  loves  one's  grandchild  as 
much  as  mother  and  father  and  grandmother.  One 
only  jokes  about  Juliette's  sorrow,  and  one  will 

[247] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

continue  to  do  so  for  the  simple  reason  that  one 
thinks  it  will  be  the  best  way  to  console  her." 

My  grandmother's  regrets  calmed  my  grief,  but 
my  poor  grandfather  was  snubbed  many  times  for 
his  way  of  "  consoling  "  me. 


[248] 


XXVI 

MY    FIRST    COMMUNION 

|T  is  impossible  to  imagine  to-day  the  impor- 
tance of  a  railway  journey  in  the  time  of  my 
childhood.  All  Chauny  talked  of  it  when  I  start- 
ed; all  Chauny  questioned  me  concerning  it  on 
my  return.  When  I  went  out  with  grandfather, 
people  stopped  me  in  the  street  to  ask  me  if  a  rail- 
way journey  was  very  frightful. 

Truth  to  tell,  the  horrible  whistles,  the  deafen- 
ing threatening  noise  of  the  locomotives,  the  tun- 
nels ( oh,  those  tunnels ! ) ,  the  frightful  black 
smoke  that  made  one  look  like  a  coal-man  in  a  few 
hours,  had  filled  me  with  apprehension,  and  every- 
thing connected  with  it  seemed  to  me  like  some- 
thing coming  straight  from  hell. 

"  It  splits  your  ears,  it  blinds  you  if  you  put 
your  nose  out  of  the  window,  it  shakes  you  so  that 
you  tremble,  it  is  ugly  and  makes  you  ugly,"  I  re- 
plied to  everyone  who  questioned  me. 

At  school  I  had  a  great  success.  All  the  big 
girls  asked  me  about  it,  to  satisfy  their  own  curios- 
ity and  that  of  their  families.  All  the  little  girls 
[249] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

wished  to  know  the  entire  history  of  the  railway 
journey,  and  all  about  the  sea  and  the  ships. 

My  large  basket  of  shells  was  emptied  in  a  few 
days.  The  numberless  presents  I  had  brought 
disappeared  quickly.  A  week  after  my  return  I 
had  nothing  left.  "  Those,"  I  said,  speaking  of 
my  shells,  "  were  not  bought.  I  picked  them  up 
myself  by  the  sea,  the  real  sea !  " 

These  words  produced  an  immense  sensation. 
At  recreations  I  held  forth,  surrounded  by  numer- 
ous listeners  with  eager  eyes  and  open  mouths. 
Questions  came  from  all  sides.  They  never  tired 
of  hearing  my  stories  told  over  and  over  again. 
The  history  of  the  woman  beheaded  in  the  tunnel 
made  them  all  tremble. 

"  Why  did  she  look  out  of  the  window  ?  "  asked 
the  big  girls.  "  One  should  take  great  care  in 
travelling,  for  there  is  always  great  risk.  One  has 
only  to  read  about  it  to  know  it." 

The  little  girls  asked  especially  whether  the  be- 
headed woman  had  children  and  whether  they  were 
with  her.  When  I  answered,  "  yes,"  there  was  a 
general  panic,  and  the  whole  brood  scattered,  with 
frightened  "  ohs !  " 

If  a  schoolgirl  of  to-day  had  passed  the  winter 
at  the  North  Pole,  and  should  relate  to  her  school- 
mates that  she  had  seen  a  mother  crushed  to  death 
[250] 


MY  FIRST  COMMUNION 


by  an  iceberg  before  her  children's  eyes,  she  would 
not  produce  a  greater  sensation  than  I  did  with 
my  story  of  the  railway  and  the  unfortunate 
woman  in  the  tunnel.  They  were  beginning  to 
build  the  railway  from  Paris  to  Saint-Quentin, 
which  was  to  pass  through  Chauny,  and  everyone 
was  wildly  excited  over  the  matter.  I  had,  with 
great  art,  planned  a  course  of  entertainment  to 
be  given  at  home.  Every  evening,  after  din- 
ner, I  related  to  my  grandparents,  to  Blondeau, 
and  to  my  friend  Charles — who  would  not  have 
missed  it  for  anything  in  the  world — the  his- 
tory of  one  of  my  days  of  travel — never  more 
and  never  less  than  one;  and  the  number  of 
my  stories  just  covered  the  number  of  days  of  the 
journey. 

I  had  missed  a  whole  month  of  the  catechism 
class,  but  the  vicar  was  indulgent.  He  was,  him- 
self, much  interested  in  my  excursion,  and  asked 
me,  like  everyone  else,  to  give  him  my  impressions 
about  the  railroad  and  the  sea. 

My  reflections  pleased  him,  and  he  spoke  of  them 
to  the  dean,  who  also  questioned  me.  I  told  him 
that  the  railroad  was  an  abominable,  whistling  in- 
vention— it  seemed  like  hell,  with  its  fire  and  its 
diabolical  blackness. 

This  journey  gave  me  a  decided  pre-eminence. 
On  account  of  it,  I  was  considered  at  Chauny  su- 
[251] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

perior  to  the  other  young  girls  of  my  age.  As  the 
time  for  first  communion  approached,  the  dean  in- 
terested himself  especially  in  me.  He  selected  me 
to  pronounce  the  baptismal  vows,  and  to  head  one 
of  the  files  of  communicants  to  the  Holy  Table. 
The  Bishop  of  Soissons  came  that  year,  as  he  did 
every  two  years,  to  administer  confirmation,  and  I 
was  selected  to  make  him  the  complimentary  speech 
of  welcome  at  the  parsonage. 

I  was  the  youngest  and  the  tallest  of  the  com- 
municants. My  grandparents,  Blondeau,  and  my 
friend  Charles,  when  the  history  of  my  journey 
was  finished,  busied  themselves  exclusively  about 
my  first  communion.  Grandmother  had  ordered 
the  finest  muslin  for  my  gown  and  veil.  They  said 
white  was  very  becoming  to  me,  and  that  I  should 
be  the  prettiest  girl  of  all.  My  friend  Charles 
taught  me  how  to  say  my  baptismal  vows  and  my 
complimentary  speech  to  the  Bishop,  in  a  manner 
rather  more  theatrical  than  pious. 

I  had  then  as  an  intimate  friend  a  strange  girl 

of  my  own  age,  as  small  as  I  was  tall,  witty,  sharp- 

tongued,  and  mischievous,  whose  influence  over  me 

was   anything  but  good.     Whenever  she  saw  me 

enthusiastic  or  admiring  anything,  she  did  her  best 

to  spoil  what  I  admired.  Her  name  was  Maribert.* 

*  The  final  syllable  only  is  correct. 

[252] 


MY  FIRST  COMMUNION 


We  had  been  friends  for  four  years,  but  we  had 
had  very  serious  quarrels  and  reconciliations,  which 
interested  the  whole  school. 

Maribert  was  to  make  her  first  communion  at  the 
same  time  as  myself.  She  was  a  boarder  at  the 
school  and  was  very  strictly  watched  because  she 
criticised  the  catechism  in  a  way  which  shocked  the 
least  devout.  She  often  argued  with  the  vicar, 
contending  with  him  in  discussing  the  articles  of 
faith  he  was  explaining  to  us. 

"  You  will  be  cast  out  of  the  church  if  you  do 
not  submit,"  the  vicar  said  to  her  one  day.  "  You 
have  a  renegade's  mind." 

And  she  dared  to  reply: 

"  I  am  a  philosopher,  I  am  strong-minded !  " 

I  went  to  board  at  school  during  the  month  pre- 
ceding my  first  communion,  the  dean,  finding  I  was 
not  preparing  myself  well  for  the  ceremony  at  my 
grandparents',  induced  them  to  let  me  absent  my- 
self from  home  until  the  great  day.  Maribert  had 
succeeded  in  having  me  for  neighbour  in  the  dor- 
mitory, and  she  kept  by  me  at  recreations.  Dur- 
ing class  hours,  by  the  means  of  little  notes,  which 
she  would  slip  into  my  hands,  she  tried  to  influence 
my  mind  to  unbelief.  She  endeavoured  to  prove 
to  me  that  the  dean  was  in  no  wise  evangelical ;  that 
the  vicar,  who  instructed  us,  preferred  a  good  din- 
[253] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ner  to  a  good  mass;  that  the  Miles.  Andre,  our 
mistresses,  were  much  more  interested  in  not  losing 
their  pupils  than  in  teaching  and  improving 
them. 

"  Now,  as  to  myself,"  she  said,  "  they  should 
send  me  away ;  they  know  very  well  that  I  change 
all  the  ideas  I  wish  to  change;  that  I  am  a  dis- 
turber; that  I  shall  not  make  my  first  communion 
seriously ;  that  I  will  prevent  others — you,  first  of 
all — from  making  it  with  the  necessary  unction 
and  devotion ;  and  yet  they  keep  me  here — me,  the 
black  sheep  of  the  flock ! " 

I  was  badly  influenced  by  Maribert,  and  they 
would  have  done  better  to  have  me  with  grand- 
mother, who,  although  at  this  time  too  occupied  with 
the  things  of  this  world  to  give  me  great  spiritual 
help,  would  have  done  all  she  could  to  increase  my 
faith. 

The  morning  of  the  day  of  my  first  communion 
I  was  sad,  discontented,  I  did  not  feel  as  I  should 
have  felt,  and  I  envied  the  happiness  of  those  who, 
having  had  the  strength  to  resist  Maribert's  diabol- 
ical'influence,  wore  on  their  faces  an  expression  of 
beatitude.  As  we  were  leaving  for  the  church, 
Maribert  slipped  a  piece  of  chocolate  into  my  hand, 
saying,  with  her  shining,  demoniacal  eyes  looking 
at  me:  "Eat  it!" 

[254] 


MY  FIRST  COMMUNION 


And,  at  the  same  time,  I  heard  her  crunching 
the  half  of  the  piece  she  had  given  to  me. 

I  threw  the  chocolate  in  her  face.  Ah,  no !  that 
was  too  much!  I,  too,  wanted  to  be  strong- 
minded,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  commit  a  sacrilege, 
to  lie,  to  receive  communion  after  having  eaten. 

I  suddenly  realised  my  friend's  evil-doing,  and  I 
struggled  instantly  to  wrench  out  from  my  mind 
the  ideas  she  had  implanted  in  it;  they  were  not 
numerous,  however,  for  we  possessed  but  few  tastes 
in  common.  However,  a  great  sadness  took  pos- 
session of  me ;  had  I  not  broken  with  a  confidante, 
a  friend  of  four  years'  standing?  (Years  are  so 
long  in  childhood!) 

Maribert,  alas!  had  made  me  lose  enthusiasm 
for  prayer,  and  that  enthusiasm  alone,  on  such  a 
day  as  this,  could  have  consoled  me  for  the  heart- 
ache I  suffered.  I  was  overcome  to  such  a  degree 
that  my  tears  fell  without  my  knowing  it. 

"  You  are  sillier  than  the  silliest,"  Maribert  said 
to  me.  "  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again  as  long 
as  I  live." 

"  You  are  more  wicked  than  the  wickedest,"  I 
replied,  "  and  I  shall  reproach  myself  as  long  as 
I  exist  for  having  loved  one  so  accursed  as  you." 

The  hour  came  for  leaving  for  the  church.  Our 
mothers  were  waiting  for  us  in  the  drawing-room. 
[255] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

My  mother  and  my  grandmother  were  there.  I 
threw  myself  in  their  arms  and  kissed  them  fer- 
vently. They  were  much  edified  in  seeing  my  pal- 
lor and  my  red  eyes.  My  grandmother  wore  a 
white  woollen  gown,  a  black  bonnet,  and  a  black 
silk  scarf  trimmed  with  fringe.  I  thought  her 
very  well  dressed.  My  mother  looked  very  hand- 
some, although  her  toilette  was  extremely  simple. 
She  wore  a  large  Leghorn  straw  bonnet,  tied  with 
black  velvet  ribbons,  a  puce-coloured  silk  gown 
with  a  train,  and  on  her  shoulders  a  scarf  beauti- 
fully embroidered  by  herself,  fastened  with  tur- 
quoise pins.  I  could  not  cease  from  admiring 
her. 

"  How  beautiful  mamma  is,"  I  said  in  a  low  tone 
to  grandmother.  "  Just  look  at  her." 

"  Yes,"  grandmother  replied  aloud,  "  and  it 
would  be  well  if  she  would  take  pleasure  in  her 
beauty,  if  she  would  be  grateful  to  God  for  it ;  but, 
alas!  I  am  sure  she  imagines  people  look  at  her 
maliciously." 

My  mother  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Juliette,"  added  grandmother,  "  this  is  a  hap- 
py day  for  you,  my  little  girl ;  may  it  govern  your 
whole  life;  may  you  understand  its  religious  sig- 
nificance. I  shall  pray  to  God  with  my  whole 
soul  that  it  may  be  so." 

[256] 


MY  FIRST  COMMUNION 


We  left  the  school,  I  at  the  head  of  the  proces- 
sion, my  schoolmates  following  me  one  by  one.  We 
formed  a  file  and  walked  through  the  streets  to  the 
church.  The  organ  ushered  us  in  with  a  peal  of 
gladness.  My  heart  beat  so  hard  it  hurt  me.  But 
by  degrees  a  great  calmness  came  over  me.  I  ab- 
jured evil;  I  banished  Maribert  from  my  heart.  I 
saw  her  farther  down  in  the  file,  her  face  made 
ugly  by  a  wicked  smile.  I  looked  at  her  coldly 
and  proudly,  and  I  raised  my  eyes  to  Heaven  to 
prove  to  her  that  I  was  no  longer  under  the  in- 
fluence of  her  wicked  teaching.  I  felt  as  it  was 
proper  I  should  feel  in  the  holy  place  and  in  view 
of  the  ceremony  in  which  I  was  to  take  part. 

I  recited  my  baptismal  vows  simply,  in  a  loud 
voice,  feeling  sincerely  what  I  said.  I  thought 
of  grandmother,  who  was  listening  to  me  and  to 
whom  I  would  that  very  night  confess  all  that  I 
had  hidden  from  her  about  Maribert.  I  made  my 
communion  in  peace,  I  returned  to  grandmother's 
house  happy  in  being  at  home  again,  freed  from 
Maribert,  whom  I  felt  I  would  never  miss  again 
when  absent  from  her. 

The  next  day  I  was  to  recite  my  complimentary 
speech  to  the  bishop  at  the  parsonage.  Grand- 
father had  said  that  Monseigneur  de  Garsignies 
had  been  a  former  cavalry  officer,  and  grandmother 
18  [  257  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

had  added  that  he  had  had  a  very  adventurous, 
romantic  life.  My  grandparents'  remarks  about 
him  at  table  took  away  all  my  fear  of  him. 

I  repeated  my  address,  smiling  and  looking  at 
him  unembarrassed.  He  smiled,  too,  and  kissed 
me. 

At  the  church,  during  the  ceremony  of  confirma- 
tion, when  I  kissed  the  paten  and  Monseigneur  ap- 
proached his  fingers  to  my  face,  Maribert's  influ- 
ence suddenly  took  possession  of  me  again,  and  I 
said,  without  being  conscious  of  the  words  I  pro- 
nounced, words  which  froze  with  horror  my  school- 
mates, kneeling  near  me,  and  which  made  Mari- 
bert  laugh: 

"  Lightly,  Monseigneur,  I  beg  of  you ! " 

He  tapped  my  cheek  harder  than  he  tapped 
those  of  my  schoolmates.  Why  did  I  say  it?  I 
do  not  know,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  resisted  a  diabol- 
ical desire  to  say  something  worse.  The  sacred 
gesture  suddenly  seemed  to  me  like  a  slap  in  my 
face.  Maribert  was  kneeling  at  a  short  distance 
from  me.  Was  it  her  wicked  spirit  which  had  in- 
spired me  with  this  act  of  revolt? 

The  dean  called  me  to  the  sacristy  after  the 
confirmation,  and  scolded  me  in  a  severe  but 
fatherly  manner,  and  gave  me  a  penance  to  per- 
form. 

[258] 


MY  FIRST  COMMUNION 


A  few  years  afterwards,  at  an  evening  party 
given  at  Soissons,  where  I  had  arrived  as  a  young 
bride,  Monseigneur  de  Garsignies,  as  I  entered  the 
room  and  bowed  to  him,  exclaimed : 

"  The  little  girl  whom  I  confirmed ! " 


[259] 


XXVII 

WE    DISCUSS    FRENCH    LITERATURE 

|  HE  school-house  in  our  old  garden  had  been 
built  during  the  summer  months.  It  was 
now  being  finished  with  all  possible  haste.  The 
school  was  to  be  reopened  in  October  in  the  new 
building.  One  could  see  the  odious  structure  above 
the  high  wall,  for  which  I  felt  a  violent  hatred.  In 
the  evening  large  fires  were  lit  in  it,  which  I  could 
see  from  the  hall  leading  to  my  room  on  the  first 
story,  and  they  looked  to  me  like  the  mouth  of  the 
infernal  regions. 

I  continually  declared  that  I  would  never,  never, 
go  to  that  school,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  grand- 
mother and  my  mother,  at  the  family  dinner  given 
on  the  day  of  my  first  communion,  endeavoured  to 
make  me  promise  I  would  go  to  the  new  school  in 
October.  My  father  was  not  present  at  the  din- 
ner, for  he  disapproved  of,  although  he  submitted 
to,  what  he  called  the  continuation  of  my  baptism. 
I  literally  lost  my  head  when  I  thought  that  I 
might  be  obliged  to  repeat  my  lessons  over  the  de- 
stroyed ground  of  my  garden,  or  play  over  the 
place  where  my  "  temple  of  verdure "  had  been. 
[260] 


WE  DISCUSS  FRENCH  LITERATURE 

Grandmother  was  distressed  at  my  obstinacy,  and 
perhaps  was  even  more  irritated  by  it.  Our  affection 
suffered  from  all  this,  and  we  hurt  each  other's 
feelings  often  in  spite  of  the  deep  love  we  bore 
each  other.  I  took  no  more  interest  in  my  dear 
grandparents'  happiness ;  I  stood  between  them  no 
longer;  I  kept  silence  when  a  discussion  arose;  the 
impersonal  pronouns  were  frequently  used  again. 
Blondeau  was  sad  over  my  grief,  and  I  was  all  the 
more  unhappy  because  Maribert  excited  ill-feeling 
against  me  at  school,  keeping  up  a  relentless  fight. 
There  were  two  hostile  camps.  The  girls  were 
either  on  her  side  or  on  mine.  Her  party  was  full 
of  activity,  tormenting  us,  playing  us  all  manner 
of  bad  tricks;  mine  resisted  indolently,  because  I, 
their  head,  was  discouraged,  and  worked  no  longer. 
I  was  constantly  scolded  and  punished.  I  became 
ill-tempered,  I,  whom  my  companions  had  loved 
until  then  especially  on  account  of  my  good  hu- 
mour. I  could  no  longer,  as  formerly,  bring  them 
fruit  from  my  garden.  The  sugar-plums  were  a 
thing  of  the  past ;  in  a  word,  I  was  undone  and  did 
not  care  for  anything. 

My  visit  to  my  aunts  at  Chivres,  where  I  recov- 
ered a  little  serenity,  was  shorter  than  usual  that 
year.     My  vacation  was  to  be  no  longer  than  that 
given  by  the  school,  and  my  father  claimed  his 
[261] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

share  of  it.  I  had  hardly  finished  the  story  of  my 
journey,  day  by  day,  to  my  aunts,  I  had  scarce- 
ly told  all  about  my  first  communion,  when  I 
should  have  been  obliged  to  leave,  had  I  not  ob- 
tained a  prolongation  of  my  stay  for  a  month 
more,  by  writing  to  my  father  imploring  him  to 
keep  me  when  the  school  opened  in  October,  and  to 
spare  me  the  grief  of  going  into  the  new  building 
at  that  time. 

Aunt  Sophie  scolded  me  a  great  deal  for  my 
laziness  and  negligence  regarding  the  study  of 
Latin.  But  she  accepted  my  excuses,  and  I  began 
again  to  work  with  good  will. 

I  found  my  aunts  much  excited  over  politics. 
They  read  Le  National,  and  all  three,  as  well  as  my 
great-grandmother,  were  Liberals.  They  talked 
continually  of  Odilon  Barrot,  and  with  the  great- 
est respect  for  him.  They  had  their  individual 
opinions  about  each  member  of  the  royal  family. 
They  mourned  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans ; 
loved  the  Duke  d'Aumale  and  the  Prince  de  Join- 
ville;  esteemed  Queen  Amelie,  but  judged  King 
Louis  Philippe  severely,  and  raised  their  arms  to 
heaven  when  speaking  of  the  corruption  of  the 
times.  If  they  had  been  less  afraid  of  the  revo- 
lution, they  would  have  dethroned  the  King,  pro- 
claimed the  Duchess  of  Orleans  as  the  Regent,  and 
[262] 


WE  DISCUSS  FRENCH  LITERATURE 

prepared  the  reign  of  the  little  Count  of  Paris, 
with  Odilon  Barrot  as  President  of  the  Council. 

My  aunts  considered  Odilon  Barrot  "  the  model 
representative."  They  were  enthusiastic  about 
the  reformist  banquets,  of  which  he  was  at  once  the 
promoter  and  the  hero. 

But  they  were  irritated  over  the  "  doings  "  of 
Ledru-Rollin,  Louis  Blanc,  and  others,  who  altered 
the  nature  and  changed  the  object  of  the  reformist 
banquets ;  they  were  anxious  about  Pierre  Leroux's 
revolutionary  ideas  concerning  work,  and  Proud- 
hon's  insane  theories  about  property.  Apropos  of 
these  two  individuals  and  their  opinions  they  would 
exclaim : 

"  It  is  the  end  of  the  world !  " 

When  my  aunts  were  discussing  these  matters, 
they  declared  themselves  faithful  to  "  immortal 
principles."  They  were  enemies  of  Napoleon  I., 
less,  however,  than  of  Jacobites  and  Socialists,  but 
they  could  not  forgive  him  for  the  entrance  of  the 
allies  into  France,  nor  for  the  terrors  of  the  inva- 
sion. 

They  taught  me  Auguste  Barbier's  famous  iam- 
bic :  "  O  Corse  a  cheveux  plats,  que  la  France 
etoit  belle,"  so  that  I  might  repeat  it  to  grand- 
father. 

" Bonaparte,"  my  great-grandmother  at  Chivres 
[263] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

said,  as  my  father  had  also  said,  "  gave  us  back 
France  smaller  than  he  took  it." 

They  were  not  fond  of  Beranger,  and  when  I 
sang  his  songs  which  grandfather  had  taught  me 
they  listened,  but  made  protestations  against  the 
poet  and  the  song.  M.  Thiers  seemed  dangerous 
to  them,  with  his  worship  of  Napoleon,  who  Bona- 
partised  the  bourgeoisie,  while  Beranger  Bona- 
partised  the  people. 

"  And,"  said  aunt  Sophie,  "  whatever  may  be 
the  form  of  government  we  shall  have  after  this  of 
Louis  Philippe,  authoritative  ideas,  I  am  afraid, 
will  triumph.  Liberalism,  which  can  alone  save 
France,  which  can  give  her  her  political  existence, 
and  make  her  benefit  by  the  intelligence  of  her 
race,  seems  to  exist  only  in  Odilon  Barrot's  mind 
and  in  de  Lamartine's  writings." 

They  read  and  re-read  his  Les  Girondms,  and 
the  manner  in  which  they  spoke  of  it  remains  inef- 
faceably  in  my  memory. 

"  The  old  provincialism  of  France  must  be  re- 
awakened, the  country  must  be  governed  by  a 
great  number  of  administrative  seats;  there  must 
be  decentralisation;  France  must  return  to  the 
Girondist  programme  and  struggle  against  the  ex- 
clusive influence  of  the  capital,  against  the  autoc- 
racy of  new  ideas,  more  oppressing,  more  tyranni- 
[264] 


WE  DISCUSS  FRENCH  LITERATURE 

cal  than  the  tyrants  themselves  " — this  was  my 
aunts'  and  my  great-grandmother's  political  pro- 
gramme, which  they  made  me  write  out  in  order  to 
communicate  it  to  my  parents  and  grandparents. 

"  You  will  keep  it,  Juliette,"  aunt  Sophie  said 
to  me  one  day,  "  for  there  will  come  a  moment  in 
your  life,  I  am  certain,  when,  after  Jacobite  and 
Bonapartist  experiences,  after  probable  revolu- 
tions, you  will  remember  how  wise  and  truly  French 
and  nationalist  were  your  old  aunts'  ideas.  France 
should  act  from  her  centres  of  action,  and  not  re- 
volve like  a  top,  in  her  capital." 

My  aunts  had  never  talked  politics  together  be- 
fore me  so  much  as  during  my  vacation  in  1847. 

"  You  are  wearying  that  child,"  great-grand- 
mother would  say,  to  which  one  or  the  other  of  her 
daughters  would  reply :  "  She  is  old  enough  to 
listen  and  to  understand." 

"  It  will  not  be  useless  to  you  should  you  have  to 
listen — not  with  your  ears,  but  with  your  mouth 
yawning — to  know  what  such  persons  of  high  com- 
petency as  your  aunts  think  of  public  affairs," 
said  aunt  Constance,  with  her  habitual  mockery. 
"  So  listen,  Juliette,  listen !  " 

I  listened  without  yawning,  for  my  mind  was 
open  to  all  political  and  literary  things.  My 
aunts  were  the  personification  of  that  bourgeoise 
[265] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

class,  of  whom  my  father  spoke,  who  admitted  only 
the  medium  way  in  social  experiments,  who  cared 
only  for  average  impressions — "  natures  insupport- 
ably  equibalanced,"  he  would  say. 

My  aunts  found  Victor  Hugo  too  sonorous,  too 
resounding  for  their  calm  minds.  Aunt  Sophie 
said  he  was  "  not  sufficiently  bucolic."  They 
detested  Quasimodo's  ugliness,  criticised  the  Ode 
a  la  Colonne  Napoleon  II.,  which  seemed  to 
make  Victor  Hugo  a  Bonapartist;  they  found  his 
plays  too  intense,  too  pompously  improbable,  too 
wordily  humanitarian.  Lucrece  Borgia,  Marie 
Tudor,  Les  Burgraves,  Ruy  Bias,  put  them  out  of 
patience.  Their  classicalism  was  revolted.  They 
blamed  his  political  conduct,  too  oscillating  and 
too  diverse.  Aunt  Anastasie  implored  grace  for 
his  Les  Rayons  et  les  Ombres,  in  which  she  de- 
lighted. 

They  spoke  of  Mme.  George  Sand  with  reserve. 
I  heard  more  exclamations  than  approbation  about 
her  novel,  Leila,  whose  pretty  name  I  remembered, 
as  I  had  seen  the  book  in  grandmother's  hands. 
But  they  liked  many  of  Mme.  George  Sand's  writ- 
ings, especially  those  on  peasant  life.  La  Petite 
Fadette  they  considered  a  chef-d'oeuvre. 

"  We  are  very  bourgeoise"  said  aunt  Sophie, 
when  speaking  of  Mme.  George  Sand,  "  although 
[266] 


WE  DISCUSS  FRENCH  LITERATURE 

our  minds  are  emancipated  by  liberalism  more  than 
by  education,  and  from  regarding  public  acts  more 
than  private  actions.  Juliette,  remember  the  name 
of  this  writer,  George  Sand,"  she  added.  "  She 
will  have  a  great  influence  on  your  genera- 
tion, and  you  will  certainly  be  enthusiastic  about 
her  when  you  are  of  age.  No  matter  what  is  said 
of  her,  Mme.  George  Sand  has  remained  very  wom- 
anly, and  she  will  never  really  be  understood  except 
by  women;  but  the  greater  part  of  the  things  she 
has  written,  outside  of  her  stories  of  peasant  life, 
are  suited  to  younger  minds  than  ours,  which  she 
must  delight,  and  which  she  certainly  reflects.  It 
is  easier  for  us  to  understand  Mme.  de  Stael  and 
her  Corinne"  And  my  aunts  initiated  me  in  the 
beauty,  so  dissimilar,  of  Mme.  de  Stael's  Corirme 
and  Mme.  George  Sand's  La  Petite  Fadette.  I 
found,  to  their  delight,  the  two  books  equally  ad- 
mirable, though  in  a  different  way.  It  is  true 
they  read  them  aloud  to  me,  pointing  out  what  I 
should  admire ;  but  my  aunts,  in  spite  of  my  affec- 
tion for  them,  and  the  great  confidence  I  felt  in 
their  intelligence,  would  never  have  made  me  en- 
thusiastic about  them  if  I  had  not  myself  felt  their 
power. 

My  grandmother,  who  adored  Balzac,  used  fre- 
quently to  read  to  me  long  extracts  from  his  works, 
[267] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

which  I  found  tedious.  She  had  finally  renounced 
trying  to  make  me  like  her  dear,  her  great,  her 
unique  novel-writer.  I  sometimes  vexed  her  by 
saying : 

"  He  is  neither  Homeric  nor  Virgilian  enough." 

My  aunts  detested  Balzac. 

"  He  is  a  creator  of  unwholesome  characters," 
said  aunt  Anastasie ;  "  the  heroes  of  Monsieur  de 
Balzac  can  easily  enter  into  one's  life  and  lead  one 
to  live  in  the  same  manner  in  which  they  live  them- 
selves. They  are  so  real  that  you  think  you  have 
known  them;  they  take  possession  of  me  when  I 
read  one  of  his  novels.  I  cannot  free  my  mind  of 
people  whom  I  do  not  like,  whose  acts  I  blame,  and 
who  impose  themselves  on  my  judgment,  as  an 
ugly  fashion  is  sometimes  imposed  on  well-dressed 
women.  I  am  convinced  that  Balzac  will  form 
even  more  characters  than  those  he  has  painted.  I 
fear  that  my  sister  Pelagie  acts  under  his  influence 
oftener  than  she  is  aware.  If  you  let  yourself  be 
captured  by  that  man's  power,  he  possesses  you, 
and  he  is  an  ill-doer  who  leads  you  to  doubt,  to 
be  sceptical  about  people  and  things." 

"  Take  care,  my  niece,  of  Monsieur  de  Balzac, 

later  in  life,"  added  aunt  Constance,  "  he  is  the 

most  dangerous  of  all  writers  of  the  present  day. 

He  will  create  contemporaries  for  you,  whom  I  do 

[268] 


WE  DISCUSS  FRENCH  LITERATURE 

not  envy  you;  egoists,  people  athirst  for  position. 
Remember  what  your  old  aunt  has  said  to  you — 
even  write  it  down :  Balzac  will  engender  brains,  but 
never  consciences  nor  hearts.  To  Balzac,  virtue  is 
an  imbecility.  Eugenie  Grandet  and  Le  Pere  Gar- 
lot  revolt  me.  I  do  not  even  make  an  exception  of 
the  Lys  dans  la  Vallee." 

Ah!  if  grandmother,  who  was  a  fanatic  about 
him,  had  been  there,  what  passion  she  would  have 
thrown  into  those  discussions  about  Monsieur  de 
Balzac  with  her  sisters.  I  told  my  aunts  that 
when  I  left  Chauny  grandmother  was  reading  Les 
deux  Jeunes  Mariees  for  the  fifth  time. 

Aunt  Sophie  dictated  to  me  a  criticism  of  de 
Balzac's  works,  which  I  read  to  grandmother  on 
my  return.  She  became  angry  and  made  me  reply 
to  her  sister  in  her  name.  I  had  thus  two  contra- 
dictory lessons  on  de  Balzac  and  I  remember  them 
both. 

De  Balzac  was  a  whole  world  to  grandmother. 
Through  him,  and  with  him,  one  could  exclude  the 
banality  of  social  intercourse  from  one's  existence. 
One  lived  with  his  heroes  as  if  they  were  friends; 
they  were  flesh  and  blood.  One  talked  with  them, 
saw  them ;  they  peopled  one's  existence,  they  came 
and  visited  one. 

I  wrote  pages  on  pages  to  aunt  Sophie  about  de 
[269] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Balzac.  She  replied  to  grandmother,  and  then 
began  a  correspondence  between  the  two  sisters  on 
the  literature  of  the  day,  which  was  communicated 
to  me  whenever  it  could  be,  and  which  instructed 
me  about  many  works  of  the  time  that  were  vibrat- 
ing with  interest. 

My  aunt  and  grandmother  agreed  in  disapprov- 
ing of  the  writings  of  Eugene  Sue,  who  taught  the 
people  to  hate  priests  by  his  portrayal  of  the  char- 
acter of  Rodin. 

Grandmother  sought  distraction  in  her  read- 
ings ;  aunt  Sophie  sought  reflection.  The  one  was 
interested  only  in  lovers'  adventures,  the  other  in 
the  elegant  forms  in  which  thought  was  clad,  in 
descriptions  of  nature,  in  the  philosophy  of  life. 
They  never  understood  each  other  nor  agreed 
about  any  work  whatever. 


[270] 


XXVIII 

WE    TALK    ABOUT    POLITICS 

|AVING  reached  my  eleventh  year,  I  was  quite 
convinced  that  I  had  become  a  young  lady. 
Many  persons  thought  me  older  than  I  really  was 
on  account  of  my  height  and  my  serious  demean- 
our. My  ideas  at  this  time  were  very  pronounced, 
but  not  always  matured ;  my  imagination  ran  wild ; 
I  was  as  simple  as  a  child  and  I  reasoned  like  a 
young  woman.  Nearly  all  of  those  who  hereto- 
fore had  treated  me  like  a  child,  now  called  me 
"  Mademoiselle,"  and  grandmother,  desirous  to 
justify  the  name,  lengthened  my  skirts  considera- 
bly, and  I  wore  them  almost  quite  long. 

I  stayed  with  grandmother  nearly  a  week  between 
my  return  from  Chivres  and  my  sojourn  with  my 
father,  and  my  head  was  full  of  the  literature  of 
the  day,  and  I  now  had  my  own  opinions  on  Mme. 
de  Stae'l,  Mme.  George  Sand,  Victor  Hugo,  de  Bal- 
zac, and  Eugene  Sue.  I  had  a  book  full  of  inter- 
rogative notes  for  my  father,  who  had  talked  to 
me  only  of  the  ancient  or  "  democratic  and  social 
authors,"  as  he  called  them.  While  I  was  at 
Chauny  I  put  all  these  notes  in  order,  and  they 
[271] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

were  interesting  from  the  fact  that  the  greater 
part  of  them  had  been  gathered  from  my  aunts' 
conversation. 

I  wondered  whether  my  father  would  consent  to 
discuss  the  literature  of  the  day  with  me.  My 
knowledge  would  assuredly  surprise  him,  but  did 
he  even  know  the  authors  about  whom  I  wished  to 
talk  with  him?  But  as  aunt  Sophie,  in  spite  of 
her  love  for  Virgil  and  the  Latin  writers,  was  still 
much  interested  in  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  I 
thought  that  my  father,  too,  might  perhaps  unite 
a  taste  for  literature  with  his  love  of  politics. 

As  soon  as  I  arrived  at  Blerancourt  I  bombarded 
him  with  questions.  What  did  he  think  of  Mme. 
de  Stael,  of  Mme.  George  Sand,  of  Victor  Hugo, 
of  de  Lamartine,  of  de  Balzac?  My  mother 
thought  it  scandalous  that  I  should  be  allowed 
to  read  and  criticise  authors  of  whom  she  knew 
scarcely  anything.  Really,  our  family  was  quite 
crazy ;  even  my  aunts,  whom  she  had  always  heard 
spoken  of  as  sensible  women,  were  more  old-fash-, 
ioned  than  modernised.  My  mother  used  to  say  that 
if  she  had  brought  me  up  she  would  have  made  a  sim- 
ple housewife  of  me,  educated  to  live  in  her  circle 
and  to  think  like  other  people,  and  not  a  pedantic, 
unbearable  child,  already  thrown  out  of  her  sphere 
by  the  training  of  her  mind,  and  with  her  intelli- 
[272] 


WE  TALK  ABOUT  POLITICS 

gence  overheated  at  an  age  when  it  should  have 
been  set  on  calm  foundations. 

My  father  quite  looked  down  on  the  literature 
of  his  own  day.  He  answered  my  questions  with 
commonplaces.  Lamartine  alone  excited  him,  in 
the  way  of  blame,  not  in  his  character  of  poet,  but 
as  a  historian,  and  he  declared  that  Les  Girondins 
was  the  work  of  a  "  malefactor."  His  admiration 
of  Eugene  Sue  was  so  exaggerated  that  it  would 
have  made  aunt  Sophie  repeat  one  of  her  favourite 
sayings :  "  There  are  some  opinions  which  are 
crimes." 

"  Eugene  Sue,"  said  my  father,  "  is  a  genius ; 
he  will  deliver  France  from  all  the  Rodins ;  a  new 
epoch  will  begin  from  his  influence,  an  epoch  when 
our  country  will  at  last  be  delivered  from  the 
church;  Eugene  Sue  has  moulded  the  soft  clay  of 
which  the  people  are  still  made;  some  other  man 
will  obtain  hard  marble  from  this  same  people  on 
which  to  sculpture  his  ideas.  Events  in  our  day 
move  rapidly  forward.  The  great  renovators 
have  prepared  all  which  they  intend  to  renovate, 
definite  freedom."  He  added  solemnly :  "  We 
are  at  last  at  liberty  to  speak  of  things  of  which 
you  are  as  yet  ignorant,  and  which  I  can  now  dis- 
close to  you.  No  one  now  can  hinder  me  from 
forming  your  understanding  on  the  same  pattern 
19  [  273  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

as  my  own.  You  have  been  instructed  concerning 
the  religion  of  your  grandmother  and  your  moth- 
er; I  can  now  talk  to  you  of  mine  without  hin- 
drance; teach  you  and  show  you  from  whence 
comes  light  to  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men.  It 
comes  from  nature ;  it  is  real  because  we  can  see  it ; 
it  is  ideal  from  the  vast  expanse  it  illuminates." 

The  next  day  my  father  began  to  teach  me  what 
he  called  my  new  catechism,  and  gave  me  in  dic- 
tation the  principal  articles.  Here  are  a  few  of 
the  pages  which  I  have  kept: 

"  The  worship  of  nature,  which  we  have  re- 
ceived from  the  Greeks,  the  only  people  who  ever 
penetrated  the  depths  of  its  mystery — a  worship 
transmitted  to  us  through  uninterrupted  centuries, 
which  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  has  taught  us  in  his 
admirable  language  to  understand,  and  of  which 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  has  given  us  the  senti- 
mentality— is  the  only  true  worship. 

"  Nature,  Science,  Humanity,  are  the  three 
terms  of  initiation.  First  comes  nature,  which 
rules  everything;  then  the  revelations  of  nature, 
revelations  which  mean  science — that  is  to  say, 
phenomena  made  clear  in  themselves  and  observed 
by  man;  and  lastly,  the  appropriation  of  phe- 
nomena for  useful  social  purposes. 

"  The  times  are  moving  fast,  the  dawn  is  becora- 
[274] 


WE  TALK  ABOUT  POLITICS 

ing  light.  Nature  reveals  herself  more  and  more 
to  us;  the  future  is  bright.  A  general  spirit  of 
fraternity  prevails.  Nature,  which  Christianity 
calls  our  enemy,  gives  herself  wholly  to  man  to  aid 
him  in  his  efforts  to  traverse  the  world  by  steam, 
to  question  the  stars,  and  to  discover  intact  the  ves- 
tiges of  by-gone  times,  which  she  has  preserved 
for  him. 

"  If  Christianity  has  endeavoured  to  break  the 
bonds  between  man  and  nature,  Jesus,  the  immortal 
Christ,  has  drawn  men  together.  He  said  to 
them :  '  You  are  brethren ;  there  is  no  caste,  no 
race,  no  religion,  no  history,  no  art,  no  morals, 
that  are  not  the  universal  patrimony  of  human- 
ity.' 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  my  father,  "  when  I 
think  of  the  beauty  of  things,  of  the  harmony  one 
can  discover,  where  blinded  persons  see  only  an- 
tagonism, that  my  enjoyment  of  life  is  increased 
five-fold.  One  single  epoch  can  alone  be  compared 
to  our  time, — that  of  the  birth  of  Christianity. 
Christ,  who  brought  with  Him  the  republican 
formulas  of  equality  and  fraternity,  preached  the 
*  good  word '  to  the  people  as  we  preach  it.  Soon 
we  too  shall  become  apostles.  Jesus  freed  what 
He  called  souls;  we  shall  free  the  social  person  by 
adding  liberty  to  equality  and  fraternity. 
[275] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  A  Ledru-Rollin,  a  Louis  Blanc,  are  the  con- 
tinuators  of  Christianity.  The  poor  man  who  has 
won  his  rights  by  the  great  revolution,  must  be  the 
one  to  impose  duty  on  the  higher  classes ;  the  work- 
er must  have  a  right  to  his  work,  and  the  rich  man 
must  be  bound  to  furnish  him  with  work. 

"  The  right  to  work  is  the  most  absolute  of  all 
rights,  but  by  no  means  the  only  one.  The  most 
miserable  creature,  because  he  is  a  man,  has  a  right 
to  education  and  to  his  share  of  government. 
There  is  no  error  in  nature,  no  perversity  in  man ; 
evil  comes  only  from  society,  which  piles  up  er- 
rors and  wicked  sophisms.  The  renovating  forces 
of  the  future  will  therefore  attack  society  and  the 
middle  class,  which  governs  society  for  its  own  ex- 
clusive benefit.  Juliette !  Juliette !  I  intend  to 
make  you  an  ardent  advocate  for  the  general  good 
and  happiness  of  humanity.  I  cannot  tell  why, 
but  I  fancy  that  your  heart,  like  my  own,  will  be 
able  to  desire  passionately  the  elevation  of  the 
masses;  for  even  now  you  speak  to  a  workman,  to 
a  peasant,  or  to  a  poor  man,  as  if  he  were  your 
equal. 

"  I,  you  see,  love  the  humble,  those  who  are  on 

the  lower  steps  of  life,  more  than  I  do  myself;  the 

sight  of  those  who  suffer,  those  who  struggle,  and 

are  overcome  by  everything,  simply  tortures  m^ 

[276] 


WE  TALK  ABOUT  POLITICS 

heart.  We  must  give  all  of  ourselves  to  those  who 
have  nothing.  If  many  people  felt  in  this  way, 
there  would  be  far  fewer  ills  to  comfort  and  less 
misery  to  be  helped.  The  poor  have  only  the  vice 
of  their  poverty,  the  inferiority  of  their  social 
standing. 

"  A  rich  and  superior  man  who  has  defects  is 
culpable,  and  those  who  are  vicious  are  monsters; 
whereas  the  destitute  who  are  faulty  and  vicious, 
have  every  excuse  and  every  right  to  be  absolved. 

"  Real  piety  consists  in  giving  one's  indul- 
gences, one's  help,  and  one's  love  to  the  wretched, 
not  in  limited  charity,  circumscribed  to  material 
relief,  but  with  a  broad  humanity." 

My  heart  melted  at  these  words,  and,  as  my 
father's  acts  were  always  in  accordance  with  what 
he  said,  he  moved  every  fibre  of  sensibility  I  pos- 
sessed. 

"  A  republic  alone  can  give  to  men  the  greatest 
of  all  precious  things:  the  liberty  of  their  rights 
and  their  duties,"  said  my  father,  "  allowing  them 
the  free  expansion  of  their  faculties  for  human 
benefaction.  It  alone  can  distribute  instruction 
unreservedly  and  impose  education  by  example. 

"  Socialist  -  republican  principles  endow  every 
man,  every  citizen,  with  a  dogma  of  pride  which 
assures  his  moral  value.  If  a  man  be  a  socialist- 
[277] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

republican,  he  finds  within  himself  the  exact  level 
of  his  scope  of  faculties,  which  in  no  wise  oppress 
the  scope  of  other  person's  faculties." 

And  then  came  endless  preaching.  My  father's 
conviction,  sincere  faith,  and  absolute  certainty  of 
the  truth  of  his  ideas,  gave  him  such  persuasive  elo- 
quence that  no  child  of  eleven  could  resist,  espe- 
cially one  whom  he  treated  as  a  beloved  disciple. 

One  evening  my  father  solemnly  gave  me  a 
small  guide  entitled,  "  Twenty-one  short  precepts 
on  the  duties  of  a  sincere  Socialist-republican," 
which  Saint  Paul  would  not  have  disavowed.  He 
had  composed  it  for  me  and  for  his  peasant  and 
workingmen  proselytes. 


[278] 


XXIX 

TAI^KS    ABOUT    NATUEE 

WAS  very  fond  of  play,  but,  as  I  took  my 
role  of  socialist-republican  disciple  so  much 
in  earnest,  I  seized  every  opportunity,  like  my 
father,  of  preaching  its  doctrines. 

In  the  evenings,  after  dinner,  which  we  took 
rather  early,  the  children  of  the  neighbourhood 
used  to  gather  under  the  lime  trees,  in  the  large 
square,  which  was  situated  near  our  house.  Our 
elders  sat  and  chatted  with  one  another,  while  the 
boys  and  girls,  myself  at  the  head,  played  at  revo- 
lution. The  sons  and  daughters  of  the  parents 
whom  my  father  had  "  converted "  were  all  on 
my  side,  while  the  lukewarm,  or  ignorant,  usually 
received  chastisement,  or  finally  came  over  to  our 
party. 

While  my  father  crammed  my  mind  with  poli- 
tics, he  did  not  forget  to  foster  my  passion  for 
nature,  the  smallest  manifestations  of  which  he 
deified.  He  delighted  in  proving  to  me  that  it 
was  useless  for  man  to  seek  beyond  nature  for  un- 
attainable chimeras,  for  the  infinite  which  our 
[279] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

finite  conception  was  unable  to  understand,  and  for 
the  immaterial,  which  our  materiality  can  never 
satisfactorily  explain.  He  laid  particular  stress 
on  this  point;  he  unveiled  to  me  all  the  great  and 
small  laws  of  life  and  movement,  both  those  which 
rule  the  motion  of  the  universe  so  splendidly,  and 
those  which  govern  the  world  of  ants,  whose  ways 
and  manners  he  had  already  taught  me.  But  the 
great  demonstrations  furnished  by  ants,  however 
much  they  impressed  my  mind,  always  made  me 
laugh,  for  this  reason :  An  old  neighbour  of  ours, 
Madame  Viet,  seemed  to  have  but  one  occupation 
in  life,  that  of  destroying  ants,  and  but  one  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  the  "  frumions "  (as  she 
called  them,  in  patois)  which  she  had  scalded  dur- 
ing the  day,  and  whose  dead  bodies  she  kept,  when- 
ever she  could,  to  count  them  at  night,  either  in 
imagination  or  in  reality.  As  soon  as  she  would 
appear  outside  her  door,  after  a  very  curt  "  good- 
morning  "  to  her  neighbours,  she  would  start  a 
long  conversation  about  the  ants.  In  all  the 
neighbourhood  and  at  home  we  all  joked  about 
Madame  Viet  and  the  quantity  of  ants  she  de- 
stroyed. 

Her  granddaughter,  whose  father  was  a  large 
farmer  in  the  adjacent  country,  was  one  of  my 
schoolmates  at  Chauny;  she  spent  a  few  days  of 
[280] 


TALKS  ABOUT  NATURE 


each  week  during  the  holidays  with  her  grand- 
mother, and  was  the  first  to  laugh  about  the  ants. 
Whenever  I  went  to  see  Saint-Just's  sister, 
Madame  Decaisne  and  the  Chevalier,  I  was  al- 
ways asked  for  news  of  our  friend  and  her  "  fru- 
mions."  The  more  she  killed  the  more  they  re- 
appeared in  greater  numbers;  it  really  seemed  as 
if  they  were  brought  by  someone  during  the  night 
into  her  courtyard. 

We  had  some  beehives,  and  I  delighted  in  watch- 
ing their  daily,  never-varying  work,  about  which 
my  old  Homer  had  sung  thousands  of  years  before. 
My  father,  desiring  to  convince  me  that  men  and 
animals  are  what  we  make  them  by  kindness  and 
education,  taught  me,  little  by  little,  how  to  tame 
my  bees.  I  used  to  take  them  sugar  and  flowers, 
and  they  never  stung  me. 

"  It  is  because  you  love  them,"  said  my  father, 
"  and  they  know  it  well." 

I  was  as  fond  of  my  Blerancourt  bees  as  of  my 
Chauny  pigeons,  and  came  to  know  their  ways, 
their  work,  their  tastes,  and  their  organisation.  I 
used  to  talk  to  them,  and  they  understood  me  as 
well  as  did  my  pigeons. 

"  You  see,"  said  my  father,  "  nature  amply  suf- 
fices for  the  need  of  observation,  of  sociability  and 
love  which  exists  in  man.     He  is,  himself,  the  con- 
[281] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

scious  reflection  of  the  whole  life  of  the  universe. 
If  you  wish  to  worship  something,  worship  the  sun, 
the  God  that  gives  you  life,  that  surrounds  you 
with  heat,  that  illuminates  all  things,  and,  under 
whose  rays,  everything  grows,  everything  comes 
to  life  and  palpitates." 

Under  the  powerful  and  incessant  pressure  of 
my  father's  mind,  I  gradually  came  to  see  every- 
thing from  his  point  of  view.  Anyone  mention- 
ing the  words  "  apostleship  "  or  "  holiness,"  would 
at  once  have  made  me  think  of  my  father,  whose 
charity  and  kindness  were  without  bounds. 

I  was  unwilling  to  return  to  Chauny  and  to  the 
school,  now  occupying  the  place  of  my  beloved 
lost  garden.  I  begged  my  father  to  delay  my  de- 
parture from  Blerancourt,  under  pretext  of  my 
studying  with  him.  He  had  begun  with  me  a 
course  of  Greek  history  which  he  desired  to  finish. 
He  was  perfecting  me  as  a  "  poetess,"  and  the 
verses  I  sent  to  grandmother,  who  was  very  fond 
of  poetry,  were  considered  much  superior  to  my 
first  attempts,  both  by  Blondeau  and  my  friend 
Charles.  In  this  way  I  reached  Christmas,  and 
the  impress  of  both  republicanism  and  paganism 
became  more  and  more  developed  in  my  mind.  My 
father's  ideas  fell  into  ground  already  prepared 
for  them  by  heredity.  And  then,  who  could  have 


TALKS  ABOUT  NATURE 


resisted  so  much  warmth  of  heart,  such  a  passion- 
ate love  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good? 

Winter  set  in  very  severely  at  the  end  of  October, 
and  we  met  so  many  poorly  clad  people  on  the  roads 
that  my  father  and  I  felt  ashamed  of  our  warm 
clothing,  and  it  often  happened  that  we  returned 
home  without  wraps  or  shoes.  My  mother,  who 
was  also  charitable,  but  in  a  sensible  way,  gave 
away  only  warm  clothing;  and  she  would  abuse 
my  father  and  scold  me  for  being  as  foolish  as  he 
was. 

Lienard  had  given  back  to  me  my  large  travel- 
ling-purse, and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  offer  me 
the  little  things  we  had  bought  together  at  Bou- 
logne-sur-Mer.  This  money  was  of  the  greatest 
use  to  us  for  our  poor,  but  it  was  soon  exhausted. 

My  father  would  have  spent  millions  had  he  pos- 
sessed them.  He  could  not  be  trusted  with  money, 
for  he  gave  it  instantly  away. 

My  mother,  who  had  carefully  saved  up  the 
money  for  the  tilbury,  sent  it  to  Lienard,  know- 
ing well  that  if  she  confided  it  to  my  father  he 
would  without  fail  give  it  to  the  poor,  and  not  re- 
place his  worn-out  carriage.  He  was,  however, 
most  desirous  of  having  a  new  one,  the  old  carriage 
being  much  too  heavy  when  the  wheels  were  cov- 
ered with  mud,  which  was  the  case  eight  months 
[283] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

out  of  the  year,  on  the  badly  kept  roads  around 
Blerancourt  at  that  time. 

My  mother  never  allowed  my  father  any  loose 
money;  but  if  his  patients'  bills  were  small  at  De- 
caisne's,  the  chemist,  a  nephew  of  Saint-Just,  when 
the  end  of  each  month  came,  there  were  painful 
surprises  for  my  mother's  slender  purse,  when  the 
butcher,  the  baker,  and  grocer  had  to  be  paid. 
Added  to  this,  my  father  often  found  that  people 
were  too  poor  to  pay  for  his  visits.  If  he  did  not 
grow  rich,  he  at  least  grew  in  influence,  and  his 
republican  proselytes  numbered  hundreds.  Bler- 
ancourt was  now  becoming  a  centre  of  violent  agi- 
tation. The  most  revolutionary  pamphlets  were 
read  there ;  a  large  fair  was  held  in  the  town  every 
month,  and  my  father's  ideas  reached  all  the  sur- 
rounding villages;  the  propaganda  became  more 
and  more  active.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but  re- 
forms, progress,  the  lowering  of  the  census,  the 
accession  to  political  life,  not  only  of  the  educated 
class,  but  also  of  the  lower  classes. 

In  my  letters  to  grandmother  I  told  her,  of 
course,  as  cleverly  as  I  could,  of  my  new  opinions, 
but  only  of  those  of  republican  tendency  and  touch- 
ing upon  nature.  Without  discussing  them,  she 
answered  that  she  was  anxious  about  me,  that,  be- 
coming republican  first,  I  would  surely  become  a 
[284] 


TALKS  ABOUT  NATURE 


socialist,  and,  from  being  a  worshipper  of  nature, 
turn  pagan  and  atheist,  like  my  father;  that  it 
was  the  logical  outcome  of  such  an  education,  and 
that  there  was  no  escaping  it.  She  added  that  my 
father  was  disloyal  to  her  in  destroying  in  my  mind 
what  she  had  implanted  there. 


[285] 


XXX 

A    SEEIOUS    ACCIDENT 

HURING  the  first  days  of  December  an  ex- 
cited correspondence  about  me  began  between 
my  father  and  my  grandmother,  which  increased 
in  violence.  She  declared  she  would  not  consent 
to  my  staying  away  until  Christmas ;  that  she  had 
been  deprived  of  my  presence  too  long ;  that  I  was 
her  sole  reason  for  living,  and  that  she  insisted  on 
my  returning  to  her  at  the  end  of  the  week  we  had 
just  begun. 

"  If  you  do  not  send  her  back  to  me,"  wrote 
grandmother,  "  I  shall  alter  my  will ;  you  will  have 
nothing,  and  Juliette  can  wait  for  the  dot  you  will 
save  up  for  her." 

This  was  my  father's  answer : 

"  I  am  preparing  her  to  marry  a  workman !  " 

When  my  father  told  me  his  answer,  I  said  to 
him: 

"  That  is  a  joke,  is  it  not?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  my  dearest  wish." 

"It  is  not  mine!"  I  answered  curtly.  "I 
would  give  up  my  life  for  our  cause,  but  I  have  no 
taste  for  the  slow  torture  of  married  life  out  of 
my  own  sphere." 

[286] 


A  SERIOUS  ACCIDENT 


"  Juliette ! " 

"  It  is  true,  papa,  and  I  will  never,  never  marry 
a  man  who  is  my  inferior." 

"Well,  where  is  your  theory  of  equality?" 

"  Equality  of  rights — yes,  papa,  I  believe  in 
that  with  all  my  heart,  but  equality  in  manners 
and  ways  of  life — no,  never !  " 

My  father  was  angry  and  I  was  sulky. 

During  the  day  a  cartload  of  wood  was  brought 
to  the  door,  and,  fearing  a  fall  of  snow,  my  father, 
my  mother,  and  myself  helped  to  carry  in  the  logs. 
As  I  stooped  to  pick  some  up  in  my  arms,  my 
father,  taking  up  one  of  the  logs,  gave  me  such  a 
blow  that  I  screamed  with  pain.  I  stood  up  and 
found  the  blood  flowing  from  my  temple  and  left 
eye.  My  father,  under  the  impression  that  he  had 
destroyed  my  eye,  had  one  of  his  fits  of  madness. 
His  only  fault  was  his  extreme  violence  of  temper. 
In  one  of  his  rages  he  had  killed  a  dog  of  whom 
he  was  very  fond.  In  another,  because  his  broth- 
er-in-law, a  man  as  tall  and  as  strong  as  himself, 
had  somewhat  roughly  treated  his  wife,  my  fath- 
er's sister,  he  would  have  killed  him  also,  if  they 
had  not  been  separated. 

He  brandished  his  log  of  wood  furiously,  and 
cried  out: 

"  I  would  rather  see  my  daughter  dead  than  liv- 
[287] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ing  with  only  one  eye !  I  shall  kill  her  and  myself 
afterwards ! " 

My  mother  tried  in  vain  to  hold  him  back.  The 
gardener  endeavoured  to  wrest  the  log  from  him. 
I  suffered  intensely.  I  was  half  blinded,  and  I, 
too,  thought  my  eye  was  gone.  I  was  not  afraid 
of  death ;  I  was  only  afraid  that  my  father  would 
commit  the  crime  of  killing  himself  and  me. 

It  was  a  horrible  moment.  I  was  paralysed, 
but,  seeing  that  my  father  was  on  the  point  of  es- 
caping from  my  mother  and  the  gardener,  I  rushed 
into  the  house,  and  with  all  my  might  held  the 
door  shut  which  separated  my  father  from  the 
crime  he  was  about  to  commit. 

My  mother  kept  crying  out  to  him  that  he 
would  end  on  the  scaffold  and  dishonour  his  fam- 
ily. Blattier,  the  gardener,  besought  him,  say- 
ing :  "  Monsieur  Lambert,  as  good  as  you  are, 
you  are  surely  not  going  to  do  such  a  dreadful 
thing!" 

I  mastered  myself,  and  said  to  my  father  in 
calm  tones,  through  the  door: 

"  Very  well,  papa,  you  mean  to  kill  me,  but  let 
me  first  go  upstairs  for  a  minute  to  wash  my  eye 
and  see  whether  it  is  really  gone." 

I  let  go  the  door — it  did  not  open.  My  father, 
who  was  struggling  against  their  terrified  suppli- 
[288] 


A  SERIOUS  ACCIDENT 


cations,  was  dumfounded  at  the  sound  of  my 
calm  voice.  He  let  fall  his  log  of  wood,  and 
leaned  against  the  wall,  and,  from  my  little  room, 
where  I  was  bathing  my  eye,  I  could  hear  his  sobs 
and  cries  of  grief. 

My  heart  stood  still  when  I  turned  up  my  eyelid. 
My  eyebrow  was  cut  open,  but  I  could  see.  I 
folded  a  wet  handkerchief  over  the  wound  with  one 
hand,  and  ran  to  my  father.  I  looked  angrily  at 
him.  I  was  furious  with  him  for  not  knowing 
how  to  master  his  violent  temper,  and  I  felt  that 
but  for  my  calmness,  the  presence  of  mind  of  a 
mere  child,  he  would  have  killed  me. 

"  You  see,"  I  said,  coldly,  "  my  eye  is  not  put 
out.  It  would  have  been  useless  to  kill  me.  Only 
my  eyebrow  is  cut,  and  I  am  going  to  Decaisne's 
to  have  it  dressed." 

"  Juliette !  "  cried  both  of  my  parents.  I  did 
not  heed  them,  but  ran  to  Decaisne.  I  told  him  I 
had  hurt  myself  and  that  my  father  was  so  ner- 
vous about  it  he  was  unable  to  treat  the  wound. 

Grandmother  arrived  next  day  to  take  me  away. 
I  had  not  spoken  a  single  word  to  my  father,  or 
answered  any  of  his  questions,  for  I  thought  that 
he  deserved  severe  blame. 

Grandmother  never  guessed  anything  of  the 
truth  about  this  lamentable  event,  but  she  thought 
20  [  289  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

me  feverish.  I  told  her  quite  naturally  before  my 
father,  how  I  had  hurt  myself,  and  she  never  gave 
a  second  thought  to  such  a  simple  fact  as  the 
sudden  shutting  of  a  door  on  me,  which  was  the 
version  I  gave  her.  My  father  winced  under  my 
protecting  lies.  I  think  he  would  have  much  pre- 
ferred a  scene  of  violent  reproach  to  my  calm  in- 
dulgence. 

I  kissed  him  coldly  as  I  left.  Tears  ran  down 
his  face,  which  induced  grandmother  to  give  him 
a  passionate  embrace. 

"  Come,  my  son,"  she  said,  "  we  will  divide  her, 
and  each  take  half,  for  she  belongs  solely  to  us." 

My  mother  at  these  words  grew  angry  with  me. 

"  You  are  clever  enough  to  make  yourself  be- 
loved," she  said  in  my  ear,  kissing  me  coldly,  "  but 
I  do  not  see  what  you  gain  by  the  exaggerated 
love  you  inspire.  Remember  the  log  of  wood !  " 

Grandmother  got  into  the  carriage.  My  father 
heard  my  mother's  last  words,  and  was  about  to 
give  way  once  more  to  his  violent  temper,  but 
calmed  himself,  and  said  to  me,  kissing  me  with  all 
his  heart : 

"  Juliette,  my  darling  child,  forgive  me !  " 


[290] 


XXXI 

LIBERTY,    EQUALITY,    AND    FRATERNITY  " 

|HEN  I  stayed  with  my  father  I  missed  my 
grandmother — her  liveliness,  her  fancies,  her 
caprices,  her  gracious  tenderness,  and  her  ma- 
ternal feeling.  Grandfather's  wit  amused  and 
rested  me,  and  to  be  without  Blondeau's  devotion 
and  my  friend  Charles's  admiration  was  a  great 
deprivation.  But  as  soon  as  I  returned  to  grand- 
mother I  felt  myself  an  orphan.  I  was  nervous, 
my  mind  was  empty,  I  was  stupefied,  and  became 
more  childlike,  more  enervated,  less  fit  for  "  the 
struggle  for  life,"  a  phrase  which  grandfather  in- 
dulged in  too  frequently  and  used  on  all  occasions. 
These  allusions  to  the  "  struggle  for  life  "  some- 
times came  up  in  such  a  droll  manner  in  conver- 
sation that  they  made  us  all  laugh,  but  I  often 
thought  that  these  same  struggles  did  really 
exist,  and  were  anything  but  droll.  Had  I  not 
already  experienced  them?  The  memory  of  that 
scene  of  my  father's  violence  rose  so  tragically  in 
my  mind  that  it  seemed  to  impress  me  much  more 
when  I  invoked  it  than  at  the  time  when  I  endured 
the  pain.  Then,  too,  my  father's  strange,  insane 

[291] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

idea  of  marrying  me  to  a  workman  never  left  my 
mind. 

I  had  sometimes  dreamed  of  a  cottage  or  a 
farm,  with  a  gentleman  for  a  husband,  but  never 
of  a  "  lodging,"  with  a  weaver's  loom  or  a  car- 
penter's block  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  waiting 
for  "  my  man "  to  return  from  taking  his  work 
home,  having  "  finished  his  day." 

I  could  have  no  doubts  about  my  deep  and 
growing  love  for  the  people — a  love  which  in  my 
days  of  enthusiasm  seemed  capable  of  enabling  me 
to  sacrifice  my  very  life  for  their  cause;  I  wished 
to  help  them  and  to  serve  them,  but  to  form  a 
part  of  them, — I,  whom  generations  of  ancestors 
had  elevated  above  them — that  I  could  never 
do. 

I  recalled  Saint-Just's  words,  which  his  sister 
often  repeated  to  me  in  speaking  of  the  elegance 
of  the  young  Jacobite,  "  the  people's  friend."  He 
said: 

"  I  wish  to  raise  the  people  up  to  me,  and  desire 
to  see  them  one  day  dressed  as  I  am  myself,  but 
I  will  never  lower  myself  to  them  nor  wear  their 
blue  blouse." 

My  father,  on  the  contrary,  delighted  to  wear 
the  sayon  of  the  Gauls,  the  peasant's  blouse,  and 
workman's  smock-frock.  He  failed,  however,  to 

[292] 


"LIBERTY,  EQUALITY,  FRATERNITY" 

induce  my  mother  to  dress  herself  as  a  woman  of 
the  people. 

To  be  sure,  when  I  stayed  with  my  aunts  I 
gladly  wore  the  peasant  costume,  which  they  had 
worn  for  years,  but  then  they  saw  no  one — they 
had  retired  from  the  world  but  had  always  re- 
mained gentlewomen.  They  had  not  chosen  that 
mode  of  dress  to  become  one  of  the  lower  class. 
Their  ways,  their  conversation,  their  lives,  showed 
the  refinement  of  their  caste.  The  contrast  be- 
tween their  refinement  and  the  peasant  garb  pleased 
them,  because  it  was  rustic  and  made  them  think 
of  Trianon;  whereas  the  contrast  sought  by  my 
father  would  have  made  one  think  rather  of  the 
women  who  sat  and  knitted  by  the  guillotine,  the 
"  tricoteuses  "  of  the  Revolution. 

One  day  I  had  a  discussion  with  my  father  on 
this  subject,  and  told  him  I  would  much  rather 
see  the  "  white  caps  "  (the  name  given  in  Picardy 
to  the  peasant  women)  wearing  hats  like  mine — 
although  at  that  time  such  a  thing  was  not  dreamed 
of,  though  doubtless  they  would  have  been  pleased 
to  don  them — than  I  should  care  to  wear  their 
caps. 

Notwithstanding  reservations  of  this  kind,  or 
rather  in  spite  of  our  different  ways  of  interpret-* 
ing  the  idea  of  equality,  which  I  wished  to  be 
[293] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

elevating  and  not  lowering,  I  agreed  entirely  with 
my  father  as  to  the  forms  of  republican  principles 
and  as  to  the  social  and  democratic  programme 
which  I  had  accepted.  I  neither  laid  aside  nor 
disowned  my  little  book,  wherein  were  inscribed 
the  twenty-one  principles  of  the  future. 

My  mother  and  grandmother  both  reproached 
my  father  for  forcing  my  young  mind  and  caus- 
ing it  to  ripen  too  soon,  to  which  he  replied : 

"  She  can  think  what  she  pleases  later.  Either 
what  I  have  taught  her  will  satisfy  her,  as  it  satis- 
fies me — and  I  think  it  will,  for  she  resembles  me 
more  than  any  other  member  of  the  family — or  she 
will  throw  off  my  ideas,  as  I  threw  off,  in  one  night, 
the  teachings  of  the  seminary." 

The  end  of  1847  fixed  in  my  mind  the  political 
convictions  which  I  have  kept,  without  modifica- 
tion, for  more  than  thirty-five  years.  My  father's 
great  abilities,  his  immense  goodness,  his  love  of 
the  people,  his  disinterestedness,  all  of  which  filled 
up  the  void  in  his  conceptions,  made  me  for  many 
years  his  disciple. 

He  believed,  and  made  others  believe,  that  the 
people  possessed,  in  a  latent  degree,  all  the  virtues, 
and  that  it  would  be  necessary  only  to  put  them 
in  possession  of  all  their  social  and  political  rights 
for  them  to  be  worthy  of  both. 
[294] 


"LIBERTY,  EQUALITY,  FRATERNITY" 

In  my  father's  enthusiasm  for  "  the  masses " 
there  was  both  the  affirmation  of  a  strong  ideal  and 
also  a  great  deal  of  ingenuousness.  I  see  it  now, 
alas!  Our  sentimentality  was  not  made  of  false 
sentiment,  but  of  a  valiant  faith  in  the  necessity 
of  justice  and  in  a  proper  proportion  of  social 
benefits.  For  us  of  the  "  middle  class  "  to  con- 
tribute to  the  happiness  of  the  people  involved  a 
certain  sacrifice  which  was  not  lacking  in  generos- 
ity or  grandeur. 

The  belief  in  universal  fraternity,  the  hope  that 
each  nation  might  participate  in  the  freedom  of 
other  nations,  developed  the  finest  of  all  qualities 
— abnegation  and  heroism  in  the  men  who  filled 
prominent  roles  in  1848. 

It  could  not  be  truthfully  said,  however,  that 
practical,  feasible  ideas  possessed  the  minds  of 
the  revolutionists  of  1847,  since  a  young  girl, 
eleven  and  a  half  years  old,  as  I  was  at  that  time, 
could  be  initiated  into  all  the  revolutionary  plans, 
could  understand  them,  be  enthusiastic  about  them, 
and  strive  for  their  accomplishment.  These  plans 
were  undoubtedly  somewhat  infantile. 

Grandmother,  to  whom  I  had  talked  a  great 
deal,  was  quite  taken  with  the  sentimentality  of  the 
idea  of  regeneration  and  with  the  honest  appear- 
ance of  character  of  the  Liberals  and  the  Repub- 
[295] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

licans,  at  that  time  united.  She  began  to  think 
that  the  "  hirelings  of  royalty  "  were  corrupted, 
and  that  Louis  Philippe  was  too  unyielding  to  re- 
form and  to  progress.  Little  by  little  she  was 
being  brought  around  to  my  father's  way  of 
thinking.  Blondeau,  although  an  office-holder, 
thought  as  I  did. 

Grandfather  had  received  orders  from  his  Bona- 
partist  committee  not  to  fear  socialism,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  to  encourage  it,  and  he  approved  and 
supported  my  most  eccentric  ideas. 

My  father,  to  my  great  surprise,  was  not  pleased 
with  grandmother's  half  conversion.  I  had  thought 
he  would  rejoice  in  it. 

"  If  the  middle  class,  who  yesterday  were  still 
royalists,  become  republicans,  why,  then,  when  we 
do  have  a  republic  they  will  spoil  the  country  and 
turn  it  royalist.  We  shall  do  much  better  to  go 
slowly  and  to  form  new  generations  according  to 
our  principles  than  to  rally  elements  which  will 
create  a  selfish  and  middle-class  republic  instead 
of  a  democratic-socialist — otherwise,  generous — re- 
public. I  see  already,"  my  father  added,  "  all  the 
harm  that  Odilon  Barrot  is  doing." 

He  expressed  ideas  entirely  opposite  to  those  of 
my  aunts,  who  accused  Ledru-Rollin  of  misleading 
the  campaign  of  the  reformists,  while  he  accused 
[296] 


"LIBERTY,  EQUALITY,  FRATERNITY" 

Odilon  Barrot  of  turning  this  campaign  aside  from 
its  end. 

My  father  became  every  day  more  fanatical  in 
his  ideas.  His  opinions  became  more  and  more  in- 
tolerant. Was  this  the  reason  of  the  violence  of 
his  character?  Whenever  he  spoke,  either  to 
friends  or  to  myself,  of  the  future,  he  always  spoke 
of  the  rising  tide  which  it  would  soon  be  impossible 
to  stem. 

"  Our  principles  clash,  all  things  are  as  yet  in 
conflict;  we  ourselves  are  powerless  to  be  logical, 
and  our  country  is  bringing  forth  monstrous 
things,"  said  my  father.  "  Everything  is  abnor- 
mal, because  too  many  things  are  being  elaborated 
at  the  same  time.  There  is  such  a  thirst  for  re- 
form that  when  the  first  one  is  made  others  will 
follow  which  will  overstep  all  we  have  ever  imag- 
ined. That  is  the  reason  why  King  Louis  Philippe, 
very  sensibly,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  security,  will 
have  none.  As  to  myself,"  added  my  father, 
"  would  an  electoral  reform  satisfy  me,  would  the 
combination  of  other  intellects  satisfy  me,  either? 
What  do  I  desire?  To  undermine  everything,  ac- 
cording to  my  master,  Proudhon,  in  his  '  Econom- 
ical Contradictions,'  or  to  renew  everything,  ac- 
cording to  my  other  master,  Victor  Considerant, 
as  he  teaches  in  his  '  Principles  of  Socialism :  A 

[297] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Manifesto  of  Democracy  in  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury '  ?  What  I  do  desire  with  all  my  heart,  and 
that  which  is  absolutely  necessary,  and  without 
which  we  shall  lose  our  heads,  and  exact  from  the 
revolution  reforms  on  which  no  thought  has  been 
bestowed,  and  which  are  neither  ripened  nor  likely 
to  live — what  I  do  desire  is  to  make  somewhere, 
anywhere,  an  experiment  of  socialism,  of  associa- 
tion, and  of  life  in  common,  a  phalanstery.  Then, 
indeed,  the  possibilities  of  a  social  change  might 
be  proved." 


[298] 


XXXII 

VIVE    JL.A    REPUBLIQUE! 


I  »> 


RETURNED  to  school,  in  spite  of  the  pain 
it  gave  me.  Happily  for  me,  Maribert  had 
not  come  back.  By  degrees  I  regained  my  influ- 
ence. Stirring  political  events  were  following  each 
other  in  quick  succession,  and  drew  the  attention 
of  my  young  friends  whom  I  had  interested  in  the 
importance  of  what  was  going  on. 

Even  in  the  provinces  public  opinion  was  irri- 
tated by  the  obstinacy  of  King  Louis  Philippe  and 
of  Monsieur  Guizot,  and  by  the  insufficiency  of  a 
servile  House,  whose  majority  was  bought.  Every- 
one said — and  we  also,  the  young  female  politicians 
of  the  Mesdemoiselles  Andre's  school,  especially, 
declared — that  "  the  hour  for  reforms  had 
sounded ! " 

It  was  affirmed  that  King  Louis  Philippe  pre- 
tended to  fear  nothing  and  to  laugh  at  Odilon 
Barrot  and  Ledru-Rollin. 

Much  was  said  concerning  a  banquet  about 
to  take  place  in  the  First  Arrondissement  of 
Paris,  and  of  seditious  cries  already  heard.  We 
called  them  "  cries  of  deliverance."  When  we 

[299] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

shook  hands  with  one  another  every  morning  we 
murmured,  in  low  tones :  "  Long  live  Reform ! 
Down  with  Guizot !  " 

We  knew,  and  kept  saying  among  ourselves,  that 
the  people,  the  great  people,  "  were  stirring  in  their 
deep  masses." 

And,  lo !  one  day  we  heard  that  many  of  these 
inoffensive  people  had  been  massacred  for  making 
a  purely  legal  demonstration ;  that  King  Louis 
Philippe,  after  trying  twice  to  form  a  ministry, 
and  that  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  after  a  semblance 
of  regency,  were  in  flight ;  then  we  heard,  in  quick 
succession,  that  the  people  had  erected  barricades, 
that  the  National  Guard  had  behaved  like  heroes, 
and  that  the  Republic  was  proclaimed! 

The  Republic!  and  what  a  grand  Republic! 
My  father's  and  mine,  one  that  began  by  recog- 
nizing the  people  and  their  right  to  work ! 

The  Republic  had  just  ratified  this  privilege, 
and  the  people's  delegates  had  said,  in  words  worthy 
of  ancient  Greece: 

"  The  people  have  three  months  of  misery  to 
give  to  the  service  of  the  Republic." 

"  The  people,"  said  the  Democratic  Pacifique, 
"  have  behaved  admirably  and  have  shown  them- 
selves worthy  of  every  liberty.  They  have  proved 
their  moral  maturity.  Not  a  single  robbery,  nor 

[300] 


"VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE! 


a  single  attack  on  private  property  has  been  com- 
mitted." The  ragged  poor  who  guarded  the  Pal- 
ace of  the  Tuileries  had  put  placards  along  the 
corridors,  reading :  "  Death  to  all  thieves !  "  They 
had  also  protected  the  bank  treasure. 

France  once  again  was  at  the  head  of  nations, 
and  gave  a  new  example  of  her  national  grandeur. 

My  father  arrived  on  the  26th  of  February.  He 
could  not  stay  quiet  at  Blerancourt,  and  felt  that 
he  must  share  his  joy  with  me. 

Grandmother  did  not  appear  over-anxious  about 
the  revolution. 

Grandfather  raged.  He  had  thought  that  the 
overthrowing  of  the  Orleans  dynasty  could  be  but 
to  the  sole  advantage  of  Louis  Napoleon.  He  fell 
upon  the  first  triumphant  Republican, — his  son-in- 
law, — who  came  under  his  hands,  and  also  upon  his 
stupidly  democratic  Republic,  and  none  of  us 
could  force  him  to  beat  a  retreat.  My  father 
laughed,  grandmother  smiled,  and  I  said : 

"  Ah !  poor  grandfather,  with  our  Republic 
I  am  afraid  your  Bonaparte  is  in  a  bad  way, 
however  socialistic  he  may  have  pretended  to 
be." 

I  can  remember  that  at  the  end  of  dinner  on  that 
26th  of  February,  grandfather,  who,  to  console 
himself  for  his  disappointment,  had  added  a  few 
[301  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

bottles  of  his  old  Macon  wine  to  his  usual  allow- 
ance, said  to  us,  with  eyes  rounder  than  ever: 

"  Well,  I  can  see  as  clear  as  daylight  into  the 
future." 

"  Grandfather,  it  is  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing." 

"  I  see  your  Republic — do  you  hear,  Lambert? 
do  you  hear,  Juliette? — thrown  to  the  ground  by 
my  Bonaparte.  I  repeat  it,  so  that  you  may  hear : 
revolutions  always  end  in  empires." 

Grandmother,  Blondeau,  and  especially  my  fa- 
ther and  I,  laughed  heartily  at  him. 

At  school,  how  excited  and  curious  and  fright- 
ened they  all  were !  Half  the  pupils  were  missing 
and  were  shut  up  at  home,  as  it  was  thought  the 
revolution  might  spread  in  the  provinces.  The 
workmen  of  the  glass  manufactory  were  all  for  the 
Republic.  They  would  doubtless  proclaim  it  at 
Chauny,  make  a  revolution  on  their  own  account, 
and  perhaps  commit  pillage. 

Mademoiselle  Andre  and  her  younger  sister  sent 
for  me  as  soon  as  I  arrived  at  school.  They  had 
long  known  of  my  father's  opinions  and  guessed 
at  mine.  They  wished  to  put  themselves  under 
our  protection. 

"  Well,  Juliette,  how  pleased  your  father  must 
be  at  the  news,  as  he  has  always  been  a  republican. 
Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

[302] 


"VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE! 


"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  he  came  yesterday,  and  he 
is  overjoyed.  He  says  that  France  is  now,  at  last, 
worthy  of  her  history ;  that  she  will  govern  her- 
self;  that  all  the  European  nations  will  admire  us, 
and  perhaps  imitate  us;  that  it  is  now  the  coming 
to  power  of  the  people,  of  the  real  people,  not  the 
corrupted  middle  class,  and  that " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  elder  Mademoiselle 
Andre,  sharply.  "  Please  keep  to  yourself  these 
beautiful  opinions  of  your  father.  I  forbid  you 
to  speak  of  them  here." 

"  In  the  class-room,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  In  the  class-room  or  at  recreation." 

I  looked  Mademoiselle  Andre  straight  in  the 
face.  I  was  nearly  as  tall  as  she  was.  I  an- 
swered : 

"  I  cannot  promise  that,  Mademoiselle,  for  we 
number  a  good  many  republicans  in  school.  And 
no  one  can  forbid  us  to  speak  of,  and  to  love,  the 
Republic." 

"  But  France  has  not  accepted  your  Republic," 
said  Mademoiselle  Sophie. 

"  She  will  accept  it,  Mademoiselle,  for  now  the 
people  can  vote." 

The  Mesdemoiselles  Andre  were  torn  by  conflict- 
ing feelings — the  imperative  desire  to  hush  me, 
which  I  perfectly  understood  from  the  tone  in 
[303] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

which  Mademoiselle  Sophie  said :  "  Ah !  Juliette, 
how  sad  it  is  to  be  divided  between  being  obliged 
to  be  harsh  to  the  daughter  of  a  friend  and  the 
fear  of  irritating  republican  sentiments.  When 
you  next  see  your  father,  Juliette,  you  can  tell  him 
from  us  how  sincerely  we  hope  that  his  Republic 
will  calm  France  instead  of  disturbing  her." 

I  made  my  curtsey  and  went  into  the  class-room. 
Curious  glances  followed  me.  I  answered  by  signs 
that  an  important  affair  had  happened.  All  my 
schoolmates  were  aware  of  my  having  been  called 
into  the  drawing-room  by  "  Mesdemoiselles." 

I  had  a  tri-coloured  cockade  pinned  inside  my 
bodice.  I  took  it  out  and  held  it  in  the  palm  of 
my  hand,  under  the  half-raised  cover  of  my  desk. 
I  showed  it  to  my  neighbour,  and  slipped  it  into 
her  hand;  she  did  the  same  to  her  neighbour.  In 
an  instant  my  cockade  went  the  round  of  our  long 
table,  unperceived  by  our  governess.  My  friends 
knew  then  that  "  Mesdemoiselles  "  had  spoken  to 
me  about  the  Republic! 

The  class  became  highly  excited;  we  were  all 
restless  and  inattentive.  Not  one  of  us  had  learned 
her  lessons  or  written  her  exercises,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  but  one  answer: 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  have  had  no  time  for  my  les- 
sons on  account  of  the  Republic." 
[304] 


"VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE! 


"  Mademoiselle,  I  have  had  no  time  to  study,  on 
account  of  the  Republic !  " 

"  I  wonder  what  interest  the  Republic  can  have 
for  you?  "  said  our  governess,  in  a  most  disdain- 
ful tone,  and  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

A  voice  was  heard  to  answer,  amid  general 
silence.  It  was  mine: 

"  Why,  Mademoiselle,  the  Republic  is  most  ex- 
citing to  us ! " 

An  approving  murmur  upheld  me.  Mademoi- 
selle was  silent,  and  looked  amazed  at  me,  and  I 
saw  it  struck  her  that  if  I  had  dared  to  answer  her 
as  I  had,  it  was  because  I  thought  I  had  the  right 
to  do  so. 

The  exit  of  the  class  was  something  like  a  small 
riot. 

It  was  our  Republic,  and  we,  the  Frondeuses, 
owned  it!  The  King  in  exile,  republicans  and 
democrats  in  power,  it  was  simply  a  triumph !  Sur- 
rounded and  questioned,  I  did  not  know  which  of 
my  friends  to  answer  first. 

"  What  did  Mesdemoiselles  say  to  you  ?  "  was 
the  general  query. 

I  told  them  what  had  passed,  and,  if  it  had  been 

possible,  they  would  have  crowned  me  with  laurels. 

"  That  was  right !     That  is  what  I  call  brave  and 

firm;  that  was  just  the  thing  to  say;  your  true 

21  [  305  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

republican  answer  was  what  it  should  have  been ! " 
was  the  approving  comment  on  my  action. 

I  repeated  for  my  friends'  benefit  every  word 
my  father  had  said :  "  The  Republic  was  marvel- 
lous; we  were  to  have  complete  liberty  and  no 
authority."  Doubtless,  and  especially  now,  in  the 
beginning  of  things,  we  were  not  to  be  impertinent 
to  our  governesses,  but  we  should  very  soon  be  able 
to  make  them  feel  that,  although  younger  and  less 
clever  than  they,  the  Republic  considered  us  their 
equals ! 

What  discussions,  what  plans,  what  different 
ways  of  understanding  Government  there  were! 
"  I  would  do  this !  I  would  act  thus !  "  we  said. 
We  each  of  us  wanted  so  many  different  things, 
that  it  was  agreed  at  last  that  we,  the  initiated,  the 
Frondeuses,  should  each  make  out  a  programme, 
which  should  be  read  in  recess  next  day,  and  that 
which  seemed  to  us  the  best  form  of  government 
should  be  decided  upon  by  vote.  Our  young 
minds  were  filled  with  the  current  words  of  the 
day. 

The  uniting  of  "  abilities  "  was  decidedly  quite 
insufficient  as  a  reform;  on  that  point  everyone 
agreed;  everybody  must  vote,  men,  women,  and 
especially  schoolgirls.  We  had  conceived  in  our 
minds  a  foreshadowing  of  true  universal  suffrage, 

[306] 


VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE!" 


and  later  we  were  firmly  convinced  that  we  had 
invented  it. 

The  opening  of  national  workshops  pleased  my 
father  greatly.  He  wrote  to  me  that  at  last  the 
people  were  to  be  happy;  that  one  hundred  thou- 
sand citizens  were  fed  by  the  State  and  worked 
for  it.  He  thought  at  that  time,  with  many 
others,  that  Louis  Blanc  was  secretly  at  the 
head  of  the  founding  and  organizing  of  the  na- 
tional workshops,  and  his  confidence  in  them  grew 
thereby. 

"  All  other  nations  admire  us,  and  all  will  later 
imitate  us,"  added  my  father  at  the  end  of  his 
long  letter.  "  The  Republic  is  to  arm  every 
Frenchman,  so  that  all  shall  be  prepared  to  join 
in  delivering  other  nations." 

My  father  came  to  see  us  again  in  March. 
Alas !  he  seemed  already  very  uneasy.  The  na- 
tional assembly  was  full  of  reactionists.  The 
Montagne  had  no  authority.  True,  the  estab- 
lishing of  the  Republic  had  taken  everyone  by 
surprise.  Nothing  was  ready ;  certain  reforms  had 
been  pushed  through,  certain  measures  had  been 
too  hurried,  but  the  feelings  of  all  the  republicans 
were  so  noble,  so  proud,  so  disinterested,  there  was 
such  a  belief  among  them  in  right,  in  justice,  in 
the  divine  voice  of  the  people,  that  it  was  better 
[307] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

not  to  be  disquieted  with  their  indecision,  nor  to  be 
too  hard  on  mistakes  already  committed. 

In  my  father's  opinion,  the  worst  of  it  was  the 
fact  that  the  whole  world  had  its  eyes  upon  us, 
and  that  the  dream  of  a  Republic  and  universal 
fraternity  could  be  realised  only  by  the  Republic 
of  France  giving  definitely,  and  at  once,  the  ex- 
ample she  owed  to  the  world. 

My  father  had  just  been  elected  Mayor  of 
Blerancourt.  His  friends  and  disciples  would 
never  have  allowed  another  to  hold  power  there, 
however  small  that  power  might  be,  nor  that  he 
should  not  be  able  to  possess  the  possibility  of 
realising  all  that  his  enthusiasm  and  generosity 
promised  for  the  Republic. 

Grandmother  and  I  went  to  Blerancourt  to  see 
them  plant  the  tree  of  Liberty,  but  it  displeased 
us  to  behold  my  father  attending  this  ceremony 
dressed  in  a  blue  blouse.  His  tri-coloured  scarf 
was  tied  so  as  to  show  the  red  only.  Already  my 
father  declared :  "  Of  the  three  colours,  we  like  only 
the  red."  White  seemed  to  him  too  Legitimist,  and 
blue  too  Organist. 

"  Juliette,"  asked  grandmother,  in  my  ear,  as 
we  were  starting  for  the  ceremony,  "  do  you  like 
that  blouse?  does  it  not  shock  your  taste?  " 

"  It  is  partly  blue,  at  any  rate,  grandmother,** 
[308] 


VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE! 


I  answered,  laughing;  "  and,  with  papa's  ideas,  it 
might  have  been  all  red !  " 

A  young  poplar  tree  was  brought  and  planted 
in  a  large  hole  prepared  for  it  in  the  market-place. 

My  father,  since  the  Republic  had  been  declared 
in  the  name  of  liberty,  had  become  reconciled  with 
the  priest,  who  now  blessed  the  tree  of  Liberty. 

In  his  speech  the  priest  declared  that  if  the 
Republic  realized  the  evangelical  ideals  of  its  pro- 
gramme, incarnated  in  the  names  of  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  fraternity,  it  would  be  the  finest  form  of 
government  existing;  but,  in  order  to  accomplish 
this,  it  was  necessary  that  all  republicans  should 
be  as  sincere,  as  generous,  and,  he  cleverly  added, 
as  Christian  in  heart,  if  not  in  form,  and  as  devoted 
to  the  poor  as  the  new  Mayor. 

In  a  speech  full  of  ardour,  which  carried  me 
away,  and  with  a  fiery  eloquence  which  fascinated 
grandmother,  my  father  answered  the  priest  that 
no  one  could  deny  that  the  Republic,  and  its  prin- 
ciples of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity,  was  born 
from  the  Gospel;  that  Christ  was  the  first  of  all 
socialists  and  republicans;  that  a  true  republican 
should  possess  all  the  Christian  virtues,  and  that 
Christianity  was  the  finest  human  formula  ever 
conceived. 

I  was  amazed.    My  father  added :  "  All  that  has 
[309] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

reference  to  the  temporal  power  of  the  Church  is 
admirable.  It  is  more  advanced  than  we  socialists 
in  the  understanding  and  the  practice  of  associa- 
tion. We  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  from  her,  but 
it  is  time  that  she  herself  should  learn  from  us  the 
worship  of  nature,  and  allow  herself  to  be  pene- 
trated by  the  truth  of  science !  " 

"  My  dear  Mayor,"  said  the  vicar  to  my  father 
after  the  ceremony,  "  you  would  accept  the  Chris- 
tian religion  with  your  eyes  shut  under  the  condi- 
tion that  it  should  be  heathenish." 

"  In  return,"  said  my  father,  laughingly,  to  the 
vicar,  "  accept  my  heathen  religion,  springing 
from  the  love  of  nature,  under  the  condition  that 
it  inspires  Christian  virtues." 

"  Never !  never !  "  replied  the  vicar,  smiling. 
"  You  have  said  that  we  are  in  advance  of  you  in 
the  conception  of  association  and  of  life  in  com- 
mon ;  we  are  also  in  advance  of  you  from  a  religious 
point  of  view.  Christianity  represents  the  present 
and  the  future ! "  And  he  added,  mockingly : 
"  Paganism  will  continue  to  be  more  and  more  a 
thing  of  the  past." 

"  So  be  it !  "  the  Mayor  replied,  gaily,  leading 
off  the  vicar,  who  came  to  breakfast  with  us. 

"  I  believe,"  said  my  father,  in  the  manner  of 
one  proposing  a  toast,  at  the  end  of  the  repast, 
[310] 


VIVE  LA  REPUBLIQUE! 


"  in  an  absolute,  undeniable  way,  that  the  Republic 
is  the  consecration  of  liberty,  of  conscience,  and  of 
tolerance,  and  I,  as  Mayor,  will  prove  to  you, 
reverend  vicar,  with  what  largeness,  what  eleva- 
tion of  ideas,  with  what  grandeur  we  democratic- 
socialist  republicans  understand  liberty !  " 


[311] 


XXXIII 

"  OTHEE   TIMES,    OTHER   MANNERS  " 

j|Y  progress  as  a  student  suffered  considerably 
from  my  serious  political  preoccupation. 

My  father  came  to  see  us  every  week,  most 
anxious  to  keep  me  well  advised  of  all  passing 
events.  He  gave  me  cuttings,  selected  and  clev- 
erly classified,  from  the  Democratic  Pacifique,  and 
brought  me  books,  pamphlets,  and  proclamations. 
One  would  have  thought  that  it  was  very  necessary 
that  I  should  be  instructed  about  the  acts  of  the 
members  of  the  Provisionary  Government  and  with 
the  writings  of  those  who  showed  themselves  the 
most  ardent  among  the  reformers.  The  study  of 
the  French  language,  of  history,  geography,  and 
literature,  were  secondary  things  to  the  author  of 
my  being. 

Besides,  in  truth,  who  knew  whether  the  French 
tongue  might  not  become  universal;  whether  the 
history  of  kings  would  be  able  to  keep  its  footing 
amid  the  events  of  the  great  revolutionary  out- 
burst ;  whether  the  geography  of  our  planet  was 
not  going  to  be  changed  in  such  a  way  by  the  fra- 
ternity of  peoples  that  it  would  be  almost  useless 


"OTHER   TIMES,   OTHER   MANNERS" 

to  learn  it  under  the  form  given  to  it  by  the  odious 
past  ? 

The  future  meant  progress,  light,  new  things! 
All  the  old  forms  were  to  be  banished.  But,  by  a 
strange  contradiction,  which,  however,  seemed  to 
strike  no  one,  this  progress,  this  light,  these  new 
things  continued  to  be  based  on  the  evangelical 
principles  of  liberty,  equality,  and  on  the  morality 
of  Christ,  "  the  Precursor,"  the  first  Socialist. 

In  the  jargon  of  the  epoch,  the  Republic  of 
Pericles,  of  Socrates,  of  Plato,  mingled  its  history 
with  that  of  the  great  French  Revolution.  The 
beauty  of  Athenian  art  alternated  with  the  por- 
ridge of  Sparta;  the  naked  feet,  or  the  sabots,  of 
the  soldiers  of  the  fourteen  armies  with  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  festivals  of  the  Goddess  of  Reason. 

There  was  no  escaping  the  qualifications  given 
to  all  men  and  to  all  things — what  we  call  "  saws  " 
to-day.  The  integrity  of  Saint- Just's  character, 
Robespierre's  austerity,  Danton's  power,  Ledru- 
Rollin's  love  of  the  people,  Proudhon's  overwhelm- 
ing courage,  the  sublime  social  theories  of  Pierre 
Leroux,  of  Cabet,  of  Louis  Blanc,  woman's  superi- 
ority as  shown  by  Tousseuel  in  his  Esprit  des 
Betes,  and  by  Fourier  in  his  Phalanstere,  and  by 
George  Sand — all  this  kind  of  talk  studded  the 
speeches  of  orators  in  small  towns  and  villages  to 

[313] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

such  a  degree  that  many  orations  were  almost 
identical,  no  matter  what  subject  was  treated.  To 
improvise  was  easy;  the  speakers  simply  wove 
phrases  together,  and  the  sonority  of  the  words 
lulled  their  listeners  as  a  well-known  air  will  do. 

The  oratorical  art  of  the  Republic  of  1848  in 
the  provinces  was  analogous  to  the  music  of  the 
hand-organs  which  delighted  the  whole  land  at 
that  time. 

When  grandmother  or  grandfather  begged  my 
father  to  lay  aside  his  fine  phraseology  and  do  them 
the  honour  of  initiating  them  into  the  details  of 
such  of  his  governmental  conceptions  as  could  pos- 
sibly be  realised,  he  answered : 

"  Anything  is  better  than  what  existed  before ! 
we  are  about  to  take  a  plunge  into  the  unknown; 
no  matter  what  happens,  we  shall  at  least  come  out 
of  the  ruts  in  which  the  chariot  of  State  has  stuck 
in  the  mud  for  centuries.  The  French  Revolution 
made  a  grand  effort  to  urge  the  horses  of  the 
chariot  to  gallop,  but  Bonaparte  bestrode  them 
and  drove  them  back.  It  is  for  us  to  drive  them 
forward  again." 

In  spite  of  his  increasing  reservation  of  opinion 

on  certain  men  whom  he  began  to  suspect  of  being 

lukewarm,  my  father's  optimism  was  as  sincere  as 

my  own.     Illusions,  the  love  of  the  unforeseen,  of 

[314] 


the  romantic,  the  absolute  ignorance  of  the  possi- 
bility of  the  realisation  of  an  idea,  the  most  infan- 
tile simplicity  held  sway  in  my  father's  mind  as  it 
possessed  the  minds  of  the  greater  number  of  the 
men  of  1848  whom  I  have  known ;  but  what  a  pas- 
sion of  devotedness  moved  them,  what  thirst  for  sac- 
rifices to  be  made  for  the  holy  cause  of  the  people, 
what  generosity,  what  loyal  abandonment  of  the 
privileges  of  their  caste,  what  sincere  fraternity, 
what  conviction  that  "  the  humble  class  "  was  ripe 
for  equality,  what  indignation  against  the  appetite 
for  enjoyment,  against  egotism,  against  Guizot's 
celebrated  formula,  "  Grow  rich !  " 

The  men  of  1848  were  apostles  and  saints.  At 
no  other  epoch  has  there  been  more  honesty,  more 
virtue,  more  noble  simplicity.  They  were  not  po- 
litical men,  they  were  souls  in  love  with  the  ideal. 
They  were  all  as  sincere  as  my  father;  all  have 
a  right  to  absolute  respect,  and  no  one  could  have 
lived  beside  them  without  honouring  and  cherish- 
ing their  memory. 

They  were  old-fashioned,  if  you  like.  All  parties 
become  old-fashioned  in  time,  but  how  few  men, 
before  and  since  1848,  have  possessed  their  youth- 
ful hearts,  their  high  inspirations,  their  love  of 
devotedness  and  of  sacrifice! 

My  memory  preserves  their  noble  faces  crowned 
[315] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

with  laurels,  while  the  lucky,  the  rich,  opportunists, 
men  of  business  and  of  politics,  whose  aim  was  per- 
sonal gain,  those  who,  victorious,  said  to  one  an- 
other: "It  is  our  turn  to  enjoy!"  who  repeated 
among  themselves :  "  The  most  important  attribute 
of  power  is  the  spoils  " — such  men  are  as  vile  in  my 
mind  as  is  the  vileness  of  their  disciples. 

Not  one  among  the  republicans  of  1848  thought 
of  obtaining  a  better  position  from  his  passage  to 
power,  not  one  grew  richer.  If  they  did  not  ac- 
complish what  they  dreamed  for  the  people,  it  was 
not  because  they  threw  their  principles  overboard 
when  they  obtained  possession  of  the  great  city  of 
Paris ;  it  was  because  their  conception  of  social  and 
human  happiness  was  too  beautiful  to  be  realised, 
and  because  the  people,  first  of  all,  refused  to  make 
a  trial  of  their  theories. 

Later,  I  knew  the  greater  part  of  these  "  im- 
beciles," as  Ernest  Picard  called  them.  They  re- 
sembled my  father.  Their  doubts — and  they  had 
many! — were  of  too  recent  date  to  have  dried  up 
their  souls;  they  no  longer  believed  in  a  divine 
Christ;  they  still  believed  in  a  human  one.  They 
worshipped  that  mysterious  Science  which  replaced 
for  them  the  supernatural,  and  which  had  not  then 
brought  all  its  brutality  to  light  in  crushing  man 
under  machinery. 

[316] 


"OTHER   TIMES,   OTHER   MANNERS" 

They  were  internationalists,  not  foregoing  by 
so  being  their  legitimate  pride  of  race,  not  accept- 
ing without  resistance  being  conquered  by  an 
enemy,  not  admitting  or  imitating  the  utilitarian 
ideas  of  national  groupings  morally  inferior  to 
themselves,  but  in  order  to  infuse  into  other  nations 
their  principles  of  love  and  of  regeneration. 

My  father  said  to  me,  towards  the  end  of  April, 
that  he  saw  the  distance  grow  wider  every  day  be- 
tween his  hopes  and  the  actual  events  taking  place. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  added,  "  that  our  Republic 
will  be  only  a  rose-water  Republic,  of  the  kind 
which  some  day  will  be  dyed  with  blood.  The 
'  yellow  gloves '  of  the  National  are  the  masters, 
and  are  delivering  the  Republic  over  to  ambitious 
men." 

My  grandmother,  on  the  contrary,  declared  her- 
self quite  satisfied  with  the  Republic,  which  she 
found  in  no  wise  frightful,  as  she  had  feared  it 
would  be. 

"  Jean-Louis,  I  am  getting  on  very  well  with 
your  Republic ! "  she  would  say  to  my  father. 

At  first  my  father  answered :  "  Wait  a  little, 
mother ; "  later  he  replied :  "  You  are  more  satis- 
fied than  I  am."  One  day  he  burst  forth:  "By 
Heaven !  if  the  Republic  suits  you,  it  is  because  it 
is  made  for  your  benefit !  The  Orleanists  might  as 

[317] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

well  return;  they  will  have  nothing  to  change  in 
favour  of  the  middle  class." 

My  father  became  soon,  in  the  most  bitter  sense 
of  the  word,  a  malcontent.  Of  course  I  became  a 
malcontent  also. 


[318] 


XXXIV 

I    GO    TO    BOARDING-SCHOOL, 

WAS  a  very  aggressive  malcontent  moreover. 
My  discussions  with  grandmother  became  so 
violent  that  grandfather  several  times  was  angry 
with  me,  and  even  Blondeau  blamed  me.  My 
friend  Charles,  who  would  probably  have  upheld 
me — for  he  was  a  revolutionist,  as  well  as  my 
father  and  myself — had  left  Chauny  to  become  the 
secretary  of  one  of  his  boyhood  friends,  a  high 
functionary  of  the  Republic,  at  Paris. 

My  father  soon  became  greatly  excited.  "  They 
are  lying  to  us,  they  are  deceiving  us,  they  are 
trying  to  put  us  to  sleep,"  he  said,  much  grieved, 
feeling  his  Christian-heathen-socialist-scientific  Re- 
public escaping  him. 

My  grandmother  felt  more  and  more  secure. 
"  Order  is  maintained,  and  therefore  the  form  of 
government  matters  little,  after  all,"  she  said. 
Grandfather,  when  my  father  and  I  became  more 
hopeless,  said: 

"  Come,  come,  things  are  going  very  well  for 
the  Empire." 

But  I  made  my  grandparents  very  unhappy  with 
[319] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

my  sorrow,  my  recriminations,  my  imprecations. 
Life  became  insupportable,  intolerable,  to  all  of  us. 
It  must  have  been  the  same,  at  that  time,  in  every 
family  where  there  were  idealists  and  sincere  Re- 
publicans, those  who  believed  they  could  bring  down 
the  moon  for  the  people,  worthy,  as  they  thought 
them,  of  all  miraculous  gifts. 

The  national  workshops,  which  had  interested 
me  so  much,  now  made  me  despair.  Alas!  they 
were  going  wrong.  What!  that  admirable  con- 
ception— the  State  creating  workshops  to  give  em- 
ployment to  those  who  needed  it,  to  feed  those  who 
were  dying  of  hunger;  that  benevolent,  protecting 
institution,  a  social  safeguard  against  poverty,  an 
admirable  example  held  up  to  all  nations — was  it 
to  be  dissolved? 

Emile  Thomas,  who  was  at  the  head  of  these 
workshops,  did  not  follow  Louis  Blanc's  ideas,  al- 
though he  often  said  to  the  contrary.  They  were 
beginning  to  suspect  him  of  being  the  agent  of 
"  the  man  of  the  Strasbourg  and  Boulogne  riots." 
Instead  of  organising  the  national  workshops,  he 
disorganised  them. 

"  The  reactionists,"  said  my  father  to  me,  "  en- 
deavour to  make  it  believed  that  fimile  Thomas  is 
acting  according  to  Louis  Blanc's  ideas,  when,  on 
the  contrary,  he  is  the  worst  enemy  of  those  ideas. 
[320] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

They  wish  to  render  pure  socialism  guilty  of  the 
crimes  they  are  committing  in  its  name.  Trelat, 
the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  cannot  suffer 
the  national  workshops;  the  Executive  Committee 
abhors  them,  the  middle  class  has  a  horror  of  them, 
because  it  is  afraid  of  them.  What  will  happen 
if,  as  the  National  Assembly,  composed  of  reac- 
tionists, desires,  they  abolish  the  workshops?  A 
hundred  thousand  men  thrown  suddenly  out  of 
work,  on  the  streets  of  Paris,  will  cause  terrible 
riots;  there  will  be  a  bloody  revolution,  in  which 
reforms  will  be  drowned,  and  that  is  their  aim." 

Ah!  those  hundred  thousand  men  threatened 
with  being  turned  into  the  streets!  I  saw  them 
unhappy,  wandering  about,  without  work,  despair- 
ing, while  their  wives  and  children  were  dying  of 
hunger  at  home.  I  wept  over  them.  My  heart 
was  full  of  an  immense  pity  for  them,  and,  day  by 
day,  I  felt  obliged  to  be  kept  informed  of  all  that 
was  taking  place.  My  grandmother,  who  had  re- 
cently subscribed  to  the  National,  wished  to  prevent 
my  reading  it,  but  I  insisted  on  seeing  it,  and, 
while  I  was  revolted  at  the  hatred  of  the  "  yellow 
gloves  "  for  my  national  workshops,  I  kept  myself 
informed  about  events  until  my  father's  visits. 

When  I  learned  that  Monsieur  de  Falloux  was 

commissioned  by  the  National  Assembly  to  furnish 

22  [ 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

a  plan  of  dissolution  of  the  national  workshops,  I 
knew  that  everything  was  falling  to  pieces. 

My  father  said  to  me :  "  They  are  organising 
butchery;  they  wish  to  dissolve  the  national  work- 
shops from  one  day  to  another.  Trelat  himself 
sees  the  danger.  He  proposes  to  replace  the  work- 
men successively,  little  by  little.  He  has  destituted 
Emile  Thomas,  seeing  at  last  the  disorganising 
work  he  was  accomplishing;  he  has  given  his  son- 
in-law,  Lalanne,  the  place,  and  Lalanne  is  reor- 
ganising the  workmen,  but  it  is  too  late,  for  the 
wolves  of  the  National  Assembly  wish  carnage." 

This  nearly  killed  me.  The  people,  the  good 
people,  so  patient,  so  generous,  who  had  behaved  so 
admirably  in  the  fateful  days  of  February,  were  be- 
ing urged  to  yield  to  the  evil  instincts  of  plunder 
from  the  poverty  imposed  upon  them. 

I  was  so  unhappy  at  all  I  felt,  and  my  suffering 
came  so  much  into  contradiction  with  my  grand- 
parents' and  Blondeau's  excessive  hardness  of  heart, 
who  said :  "  Let  them  finish  at  once  with  the  beg- 
gars !  "  that  I  begged  grandmother  to  allow  me  to 
return  to  Blerancourt  with  my  father  on  his  next 
visit. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  she  said.  "  But 
I  warn  you,  my  poor  Juliette,  that  in  your  present 
state  of  aberration  of  mind,  the  little  good  sense 
[322] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

remaining  to  you  will  be  imperilled  if  you  live  with 
your  father.  He  will  destroy  it,  and  your  mar- 
riage with  a  workman  will  be  an  appropriate  end- 
ing to  your  follies.  Now,  I  must  confide  to  you 
that  young  X.  has  already  expressed  great  ad- 
miration for  you.  He  is  seventeen  years  old,  and 
his  father,  half  seriously,  half  laughingly,  on  ac- 
count of  your  youth,  has  made  overtures  to  me  re- 
garding a  possible  alliance,  a  few  years  hence,  be- 
tween our  two  families.  Certainly,  this  is  not  what 
I  had  hoped  for  you,  for  I  should  like  you  to  be 
married  in  Paris,  where  I  would  go  and  live  part 
of  the  year  with  you,  in  order  to  direct  your  steps 
in  the  path  of  that  destiny  which,  until  lately,  I 
had  foreseen  for  you.  But  you  have  such  insane 
notions  that  perhaps  a  good  middle-class  marriage 
in  the  country  would  be  better  for  you  than  all 
I  had  desired  for  my  only  grandchild.  Here  is 
what  I  propose :  Will  you  go  to  school  as  a  boarder? 
The  school  is  so  near  that  I  shall  feel  you  still  with 
me.  You  can  lecture  your  schoolmates  as  much  as 
you  please,  and  then  your  grandfather  and  I  and 
Blondeau,  having  to  bear  with  you  only  once  a 
week,  will  be  better  able  to  endure  your  outbursts 
of  passion.  But  if  we  must  see  you  weep  or  be 
angry,  either  suffering  or  in  a  rage  every  day  be- 
cause this  good  Republic  does  not  suit  you,  why, 
[323] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

then,  ray  darling  grandchild,  the  situation  will  be 
untenable." 

I  realised  then,  from  this  proposition,  the 
amount  of  annoyance  I  had  caused  my  grandpar- 
ents. Could  it  be  possible  that  grandmother,  who 
until  lately  had  found  the  hours  I  spent  at  school 
too  long,  and  our  separation,  while  I  was  at  Chivres 
or  Blerancourt,  unbearable — could  she  wish  that  I 
should  go  to  boarding-school?  I  was  stunned; 
however,  my  foolish  pride  prevented  me  from 
throwing  myself  on  grandmother's  neck  and  ask- 
ing pardon  for  my  folly,  for  I  realised  at  that 
moment  how  absurd  I  had  been;  and  then,  what 
she  had  told  me  of  X.,  a  handsome  young  man, 
whom  I  found  charming  and  witty,  raised  me  in 
my  own  estimation  so  much  that  I  thought  a  young 
person  like  myself,  nearly  twelve  years  old,  could 
not  ask  pardon  like  a  little  girl,  so  I  replied,  al- 
though with  an  aching  heart: 

"  Very  well,  grandmother,  it  is  agreed ;  I  will 
go  to  boarding-school  as  soon  as  you  wish." 

"  To-morrow,"  she  replied. 

I  nearly  burst  into  tears,  but  it  was  class-hour, 
and  I  left  for  school,  saying  to  myself  it  would  be 
the  last  day  that  I  would  have  my  own  room  all 
to  myself,  where,  from  morning  until  night,  I  was 
surrounded  by  evidences  of  my  grandmother's  pas- 
[324] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

sionate  tenderness  and  my  grandfather's  gay  af- 
fection. I  could  see  only  from  afar  my  pigeons 
fly  down,  cooing  and  pecking  in  the  courtyard. 
I  should  miss  the  friendship  of  Blondeau,  to  whom 
I  could  no  longer  confide  my  sorrows,  or  experi- 
ment upon  with  my  father's  startling  theories, 
which  I  had  fully  adopted,  but  which  he  accepted 

only  with  certain  modifications. 

*     *     * 

The  next  day  I  went  as  a  boarder  to  the  Miles. 
Andre's  school.  My  grandfather  accompanied  me 
there,  and  it  needed  all  my  courage,  when  I  bade 
him  good-bye,  not  to  beg  him  to  allow  me  to  return 
home  at  night.  I  breakfasted  and  dined  with  my 
schoolmates.  At  class,  at  recreations,  and  all  the 
day  long,  I  saw  no  one  but  them.  The  absolute 
silence  at  table  was  a  veritable  torture.  When  I 
had  gone  to  bed,  I  was  so  unhappy  and  wept  so 
much  that  I  could  not  sleep,  and  this  was  the  first 
sleepless  night  I  had  ever  passed  in  my  life.  I  was 
frightened  to  think  of  the  next  night,  for  this  had 
seemed  to  me  as  terrible  as  the  infernal  regions, 
and  I  imagined  I  could  never  sleep  again;  this 
caused  me  great  anxiety,  but  of  course  I  did  not 
confide  it  to  any  of  my  friends,  the  most  intimate 
of  whom  were  boarders  like  myself. 

One  of  my  political  enemies  who  knew  me  well, 
[325] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

said  to  herself  that  some  disaster,  some  great  quar- 
rel between  my  grandmother  and  myself,  could 
alone  have  caused  our  separation,  and  she  amused 
herself  maliciously  by  passing  to  and  fro  before 
me,  sneering,  as  she  spread  about  a  fantastic  story 
concerning  my  coming  as  a  boarder.  My  red  eyes, 
my  discomposed  face,  gave  credence  to  her  tale, 
which  was  circulated  about  during  the  mid-day 
recreation.  They  said  that  my  grandmother  loved 
me  no  longer,  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see  me  any 
more,  that  I  had  done  all  manner  of  disobedient 
things;  and,  of  course,  I  was  at  once  informed  of 
all  this  gossip. 

At  the  afternoon  recreation  several  of  my 
schoolmates  suddenly  ran  to  me  and  said: 

"  Your  grandmother  is  on  the  top  of  the  wall 
in  the  back  courtyard.  She  wishes  you  to  go  and 
say  good-night  to  her." 

Being  aware  of  the  stories  spread  about  me  by 
my  political  enemy,  I  went  to  the  foot  of  the  wall, 
which  I  would  not  otherwise  have  done,  most  cer- 
tainly, for  I  was  so  angry  with  grandmother  that 
I  did  not  wish  to  answer  her  summons. 

"  How  are  you,  my  grandchild  ?  "  she  asked, 
perched  on  the  top  of  a  ladder,  her  head  alone  ap- 
pearing above  the  wall.  "  Have  you  slept  well?  " 

"  No,  grandmother,  I  have  not  slept  at  all,  and 
[326] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

most  surely  I  shall  never  sleep  again.  But  what 
does  that  matter  to  you?  You  are  happy,  you 
sleep  well ;  that  is  all  that  is  necessary.  Say  good- 
night to  grandfather  and  to  Blondeau  for  me. 
Good-night,  grandmother,  but  let  me  warn  you 
that,  if  you  call  for  me  again  to-morrow  from  the 
top  of  that  horrid  wall,  I  won't  come ! "  and  I  ran 
away. 

The  following  days  I  worked  only  by  fits  and 
starts,  when  my  pride  was  at  stake,  or  when  I  wished 
to  surpass  a  political  adversary.  Being  the  head 
of  my  party,  I  could  not  allow  myself  to  be  con- 
quered. 

My  heart  was  saddened  by  the  sorrow  of  living 
no  longer  under  my  beloved  grandmother's  wing, 
and  I  continued  to  feel  grievous  distress  of  mind 
in  connection  with  my  fears  concerning  the  work- 
men of  the  national  workshops. 

To  understand  rightly  the  sum  of  love  contained 
in  the  words,  "  The  poor  people,"  or  to  comprehend 
to  what  a  degree  those  who  were  sincere  socialist- 
republicans  believed  themselves  its  friends,  one  must 
go  back  to  quite  another  epoch. 

We  socialist-republicans  had  no  longer  the  cour- 
age to  play  at  recreations.  The  National  Assem- 
bly was  treating  our  workmen  of  the  memorable 
February  days,  those  who  had  written  on  the  walls 
[327] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

of  the  Tuileries,  "  Death  to  thieves !  "  as  if  they 
were  bandits  and  plunderers ! 

How  we  suffered  with  the  poor  people !  It  was  all 
over  with  them.  We  knew  it  was  only  a  question 
of  days  and  hours  before  one  hundred  thousand 
men  would  be  given  over  to  hunger  and  want.  Not 
one  of  my  schoolmates  had  allowed  herself  for  a 
long  time  to  spend  one  cent  on  delicacies  or  sweets. 
We  counted  up  our  resources  constantly.  By  com- 
bining them  we  should  be  able  to  feed  one  man  of 
the  national  workshops,  but  no  more.  I  decided 
that  we  would  write  a  touching  letter  to  the  Min- 
ister Trelat,  whom  we  detested,  who,  according  to 
our  thinking,  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  pro- 
posing to  him  that  we  should  take  charge  of  one 
workman  of  the  national  workshops.  Certainly, 
one  was  not  much  out  of  a  hundred  thousand,  but 
if  in  every  boarding-school  they  would  do  as  much, 
there  would  be,  at  all  hazards,  a  certain  number 
saved. 

The  planning  of  this  letter  was  most  difficult, 
and  took  a  great  deal  of  time.  Each  separate 
group,  having  made  out  its  draught,  communicated 
it  to  the  other  groups.  We  numbered  eleven 
groups,  secretly  bound  together,  each  one  of  which 
had  its  partisans,  and  all  our  partisans  wished  to 
share  in  the  drawing  up  of  the  letter.  At  last  the 
[328] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

final  result,  compiled  from  all  the  other  draughts, 
received  the  approbation  of  the  united  groups,  and 
the  important  letter  was  despatched.  I  addressed 
it  to  my  friend  Charles,  in  Paris,  for  him  to  take 
and  deliver  it  from  us  to  the  Minister  in  person. 

At  that  same  moment  the  National  Assembly 
cruelly  decided  that  the  workmen  from  seventeen 
to  twenty-five  years  of  age  should  be  incorporated 
in  different  regiments,  and  also  to  send  to  the  de- 
partment of  Sologne — a  country  desolated  by 
fever,  and  whose  climate  was  deadly — a  certain 
number  of  workmen  of  the  national  workshops ;  and 
that  the  remainder  should  be  distributed  in  the 
provinces,  to  build  roads  and  do  other  work,  which 
should  be  planned  by  the  municipalities. 

Thinking  that  our  "  national  workman  "  would 
be  sent  to  us  some  day,  not  only  did  we  stop  eating 
cakes,  and  economise  in  every  possible  way,  but  we 
begged  and  collected  everything  we  could  from  our 
relatives  under  all  sorts  of  pretexts.  One  girl 
had  obtained  a  suit  of  clothes  from  one  of  her 
brothers,  and  had  cleaned  and  mended  it  with  care. 
No  one  was  to  be  allowed  even  to  suspect  our  plot, 
for  we  knew  that  we  should  be  excommunicated  by 
all  our  families  if  they  should  imagine  that  we  were 
thinking  of  protecting  one  of  the  "  monsters  "  of 
the  national  workshops. 

[329] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

So  we  had  specified  in  our  letter  to  Minister  Tre- 
lat  that  our  national  workman  was  to  present  him- 
self at  the  boarding-school  of  the  Miles.  Andre  of 
Chauny  as  a  pensioner  of  Juliette  Lambert! 

My  father  had  written  to  me  that  things  were 
worse  than  had  been  reported ;  that  the  authorities 
occupied  themselves  no  longer  to  find  any  sort  of 
place  for  the  workmen ;  that  the  National  Assembly 
was  odious,  criminal ;  that  it  wished  to  dissolve  the 
national  workshops  immediately,  without  caring 
what  became  of  the  hundred  thousand  men  turned 
adrift.  "  There  will  be  great  misfortunes,"  he 
added. 

I  went  for  a  vacation  the  next  day,  a  Sunday,  to 
grandmother's ;  and  Blondeau  talked  politics  before 
me  without  my  saying  a  word,  for  I  had  determined, 
since  my  entrance  at  the  boarding-school,  not  to 
speak  of  anything  but  commonplaces  when  I  went 
to  visit  my  grandparents. 

Blondeau  related  what  seemed  incredible — that 
Trelat,  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction,  had 
asked  that  some  pity  should  be  shown  to  the  bandits 
of  the  national  workshops,  and  had  begged  the  Na- 
tional Assembly,  with  trembling  voice,  not  to  throw 
a  hundred  thousand  men  on  the  streets,  and  to  allow 
him  to  discover  some  way  of  finding  places  for 
them;  that  he  had  proposed  incorporation,  sending 

[330] 


I  GO  TO  BOARDING-SCHOOL 

them  to  the  department  of  Sologne,  road-building, 
and  other  work  to  be  decided  upon  by  the  munici- 
palities. 

"  Your  news  is  a  week  old,  Blondeau,"  I  could 
not  help  saying  to  him.  "  And  you  can  add  that 
the  National  Assembly  laughed  at  Trelat's  tardy 
outbursts  of  feeling,  and  that  it  decided  .  .  ." 

I  related  the  decision,  and  there  was  silence. 

My  grandfather,  provoked,  and  scarcely  able  to 
control  his  anger,  asked  me : 

"  Are  you  for  the  insurgents?  " 

"  I  am,  grandfather,  for  the  hundred  thousand 
wretched  men,  to  whom,  perhaps  imprudently,  they 
promised  to  give  work,  and  whom,  suddenly,  with- 
out pity,  they  wish  to  deprive  of  it." 

"  But  they  are  assassins !  " 

"  Whom  have  they  assassinated  ?  " 

"  They  are  thieves !  " 

"  From  whom  have  they  stolen  ?  " 

"  They  terrify  the  country." 

"  Oh !  yes,  they  make  them  out  bugbears.  They 
say  they  are  madmen,  in  order  to  kill  them;  per- 
haps, finally,  they  will,  indeed,  make  them  terrify- 
ing, grandfather." 

Blondeau  and  grandmother  looked  at  each  other 
bewildered.  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  breathed 
a  word. 

[331] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  It  is  time  that  Prince  Louis  should  occupy  him- 
self with  it,"  replied  grandfather,  "  or  else  such 
ideas  as  yours,  Juliette,  will  drive  us  all  crazy." 

"  Alas !  your  Prince  Louis  occupies  himself  too 
much  with  it.  It  is  he,  through  Emile  Thomas, 
who  has  made  the  national  workshops  fail." 

"  Prince  Louis  could  never  occupy  himself  too 
much  with  the  affairs  of  France,  do  you  hear,  little 
insurgent?  He  must  save  us  by  a  good  Empire, 
securely  founded,  and  which  must  last,  at  least,  until 
my  death." 


[332] 


'XXXV 


SNE  of  our  schoolmates  brought  us  the  next 
day  a  clipping  from  a  newspaper  containing 
an  article  applauding  the  measures  taken  by  the 
Government  after  the  following  facts  had  oc- 
curred. 

Under  the  threat,  voted  by  the  National  Assem- 
bly, of  an  immediate  disbanding,  the  workmen  had 
sent  delegates  to  the  Luxembourg,  who  had  begged 
Monsieur  Marie,  a  man  high  in  the  Government, 
to  delay  the  Assembly's  decision. 

Monsieur  Marie  had  answered,  so  said  the  news- 
paper, "  as  a  C«esar  might  have  done  " : 

"  If  the  workmen  will  not  leave,  we  will  make 
them  do  so  by  force;  do  you  understand?  " 

That  night  armed  bands  had  gone  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  singing :  "  On  n'part  pas!  on 
n'part  pas!  "  to  the  tune  of  the  Lampions. 
Groups  of  workmen  had  been  heard  to  say :  "  We 
have  been  betrayed,  and  we  must  begin  the  revo- 
lution of  February  over  again."  Other  groups 
had  cried  out :  "  We  must  have  Napoleon !  "  and 
they  had  been  the  most  clamorous  of  all.  The 
[333] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

workmen  were  indignant  with  de  Lamartine,  Gar- 
nier-Pages  and  Arago,  who  had  failed  in  all  their 
promises. 

The  poor  people  were  in  revolt.  There  was  dan- 
ger of  a  massacre.  The  anger  of  the  wretched 
had  burst  forth. 

It  seemed  to  us  that  petitions  might  prevent  all 
this.  Was  it  possible  to  understand,  we  said,  that 
the  members  of  the  Government,  or  others,  had  not 
placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  a  manifestation 
for  conciliation?  How  could  it  be  that  they  had 
driven  a  hundred  thousand  men,  all  bearing  the 
arms  of  the  National  Guards,  to  desperation  ?  Did 
they  wish  to  bring  about  the  end  of  the  Republic? 

We  thought  of  nothing  but  these  terrible  things. 
At  the  least  allusion  to  similar  events  in  our  lessons 
of  history,  we  exchanged  sorrowful  notes  with  one 
another  during  class  hours. 

What  was  taking  place?  What  was  going  to 
happen  ? 

I  received  a  letter  from  my  friend  Charles,  ad- 
dressed to  Blondeau,  commissioning  him  to  give  it 
to  me.  I  should  not  have  received  it  until  a  week 
later,  when  I  was  to  leave  school  for  my  day  at 
home,  if  Blondeau  had  not  come  at  the  mid-day 
recreation  and  asked  to  see  me  in  the  parlour.  He 
said  to  me: 

[384] 


DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  Charles,  and  I  come  to 
tell  you  at  the  same  time  that  since  the  day  before 
yesterday,  the  23d  of  June,  the  insurrection  has 
broken  out  in  Paris;  that  they  are  killing  one  an- 
other by  thousands,  and  that  blood  is  flowing  like 
water.  Are  you  contented,  dreadful  little  revolu- 
tionist?" 

"  Blondeau ! "  I  said,  crying,  "  that  was  what  I 
feared.  They  have  exasperated  those  poor, 
wretched  men  beyond  endurance  at  last." 

"  Now  you  are  beginning  again !  But  open 
your  letter  from  Charles.  You  see  I  have  not  un- 
sealed it;  Charles  has  told  me,  doubtless,  the  same 
thing  that  he  has  written  to  you." 

This  was  what  I  read: 

"  At  last,  my  dear  Juliette,  the  Government  has 
seen  that  it  must  defend  society  energetically 
against  the  miserable  creatures  in  whom  you  are 
interested.  All  the  partisans  of  order,  from  the 
Monarchical  party  of  the  Rue  de  Poitiers  to  my 
friend  and  patron,  Flocon,  have  united  to  crush 
those  who  have  been  brought  over  here  and  hired  by 
foreigners. 

"  I  kiss  you  good-bye,  Juliette,  until  we  meet 
again.  Your  friend,  Charles." 

I  held  out  the  dreadful  missive  to  Blondeau. 

"  He  is  perfectly  right.  He  says  what  is  true!" 
[335] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

exclaimed  Blondeau,  giving  the  letter  back  to  me 
after  having  read  it. 

I  left  him  without  even  saying  good-bye,  and 
ran  to  my  schoolmates  and  partisans,  who  were 
gathered  together,  and  anxious  about  the  visit  I 
had  received. 

"  The  revolution  has  broken  out  again,"  I  said, 
and  I  read  to  them  my  ex-friend  Charles's  letter. 
I  emphasised  the  ex,  for  I  had  already  torn  him 
from  my  heart. 

I  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  intoxicated.  My  faithful  friends,  af- 
ter a  half-hour  of  unanimous  expressions  of  indig- 
nation, thought  as  I  did. 

"  I  am  of  the  opinion,"  I  said  to  them,  "  that 
we  should  do  something.  We  cannot  remain  inert 
while  they  are  massacring  innocent  people  in  Paris. 
I  have  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  a  little  bag,  in  my 
linen-closet,  a  large  handkerchief  which  my  father 
gave  me,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  printed :  '  Long 
live  the  Democratic  and  Socialistic  Republic ! '  Find 
me  a  long  stick  in  the  wood-house,  a  ribbon  or  a 
string,  and  we  will  arrange  a  flag  out  of  it,  and 
will  make  a  manifestation.  Will  you  follow  me?  " 

"  We  will !  "  they  cried. 

"  If  we  could  add  a  few  recruits,  some  partisans, 
to  our  united  groups,  so  that  our  manifestation 
[336] 


DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC 

would  be  more  imposing,  don't  you  think  it  would 
be  better?  " 

"  We  will  all  try  to  get  some,"  said  my  comrades. 

We  then  dispersed.  I  soon  returned  with  my 
large  blue,  white,  and  red  handkerchief,  and  I 
fastened  it  to  a  long  stick  in  such  a  manner  that 
the  words,  "  Long  live  the  Democratic  and  Socialist 
Republic  "  should  be  plainly  visible. 

With  my  heart  ready  for  battle,  I  placed  myself 
at  the  head  of  my  battalion,  crying :  "  Long  live 
the  Democratic-Socialist  Republic !  Long  live  the 
insurgents !  *  On  n'part  pas!  on  n'part  pas!  ' 

A  certain  number  of  my  schoolmates  followed 
us;  the  others  looked  at  us,  terrified.  The  Miles. 
Andre  came  running,  and  snatched  my  handker- 
chief-flag out  of  my  hands.  I  defended  it  hero- 
ically. Several  of  my  schoolmates  supported  me. 
But  a  troop  commanded  by  my  political  enemy 
came  up,  crying :  "  Down  with  the  Democratic- 
Socialist  Republic !  "  and,  lending  aid  to  the  Miles. 
Andre  and  the  under-governess,  got  the  better  of 
us.  I  received  some  well-directed  blows,  and  I  suf- 
fered at  once  from  physical  pain  and  from  the 
humiliation  of  defeat.  I  was  dragged  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, held  by  both  arms,  and  much  jostled 
about.  My  valiant  comrades  followed  me. 

The  Miles.  Andre  sat  down  in  their  two  largest 
23  [  337  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

arm-chairs  to  give  me  trial.      Mile.   Sophie,  the 
younger,  questioned  my  partisans  and  allies. 

"  It  was  Juliette  Lambert,  was  it  not,  who  in- 
cited you  to  this  act  of  scandalous  folly  ?  "  she 
asked  them. 

Alas !   out  of  twenty -two,  seventeen  answered : 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle." 

The  five  others  clung  close  to  one  another.  Mile. 
Sophie  could  drag  nothing  from  them  but  one  and 
the  same  answer: 

"  Both  she  and  ourselves  wished  to  make  a  mani- 
festation ! " 

"  Oh !  yes,  you  are  brave  and  faithful  friends," 
Mile.  Sophie  replied,  who  did  not  really  wish  to 
punish  anyone  but  me.  "  It  is  a  noble  sentiment, 
for  which  I  give  you  praise.  Was  it  one  of  you 
— now,  don't  lie — who  furnished  the  handker- 
chief? " 

"  No,  mademoiselle." 

"  You  see,  the  premeditation  came  alone  from 
Juliette  Lambert." 

I  had  not  said  a  word,  nor  made  a  gesture,  wish- 
ing to  keep  up  my  dignity,  though  accused,  and 
to  force  my  judges,  my  faithful  friends,  and  even 
the  traitors,  to  admire  me. 

"  Do  you  deny  what  you  have  done  ?  "  Mile. 
Sophie  asked  me. 

[338] 


DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  I  am  an  insurgent, 
but—" 

At  this  moment  the  mother  of  one  of  my  faithful 
friends  entered,  exclaiming: 

"  My  daughter — I  wish  my  daughter — where 
is  she?  The  insurgents  are  marching  on 
Chauny ! " 

There  was  a  general  panic.  They  allowed  my 
friend  and  her  mother  to  depart,  and  they  barri- 
caded the  front  door. 

"  Don't  be  frightened !  "  I  cried,  going  from  one 
to  another  of  my  schoolmates,  making  no  discrim- 
ination between  friends  and  enemies,  "  I  will  pro- 
tect you.  They  are  my  friends,  and  we  will  go 
and  mount  guard." 

We  picked  up  our  unfortunate  and  much  dam- 
aged flag,  and  my  corporal,  my  four  "  insurgents  " 
and  I,  went  and  placed  ourselves  by  the  barricaded 
front  door.  We  heard  a  battalion  of  the  National 
Guard  passing  by,  crying :  "  Down  with  the  in- 
surgents !  Death  to  them !  " 

Frightened  people  in  the  streets  talked  together, 
saying : 

"  The  Guards  have  gone  to  bar  the  way  to  the 
insurgents." 

The  Miles.  Andre  closed  all  the  doors  and  shut- 
ters of  the  house,  and  they  left  us  where  we  were 
[339] 


from  half-past  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until 
nightfall.  One  of  us  tried  to  open  a  door  at  din- 
ner-time. It  was  impossible,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  remain  there  very  hungry. 

We  were  boarders,  all  five  of  us,  and  could  not 
think  of  returning  to  our  families.  Besides,  the 
padlocked  door  and  the  high  walls  prevented  any 
hope  of  flight.  We  said  to  one  another: 

"  After  all,  those  who  are  fighting  suffer  much 
more  than  we.  They  also  are  hungry;  they  are 
wounded,  they  are  dying  for  their  cause,  and  what 
are  our  sufferings  compared  with  theirs  ?  " 

Finally,  after  what  seemed  interminable  hours, 
they  came  to  fetch  us,  and  sent  us  to  bed  without 
supper.  We  were  too  proud  to  ask  for  any;  but 
the  traitors  had  kept  a  little  of  their  bread  for  us, 
and,  with  some  chocolate  they  gave  us,  by  slipping 
it  under  our  sheets,  we  were  able  to  satisfy  our 
hunger  a  little,  which  sleep  finally  pacified. 

The  next  day,  in  the  morning,  I  was  again  called 
to  the  drawing-room,  but  this  time  alone.  My 
faithful  friends,  cleverly  influenced,  had  agreed  to 
beg  pardon,  and  had  made  their  submission. 

The  elder  Mile.  Andre  asked  me  whether  I  re- 
pented. 

I  tried  to  prove  to  her  that  I  had  not  acted  like 
a  child;  that  I  was  convinced  of  my  right  to  have 

[340] 


DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC 

my  own  opinions,  and  that  I  had  defended  ideas 
about  which  I  had  seriously  reflected. 

"  Disturbing,  dangerous,  and  wicked  ideas ! " 
replied  the  elder  Mile.  Andre. 

"  They  are  ideas  of  conciliation,  of  peace,  and 
of  justice,  mademoiselle,  but  they  are  not  under- 
stood by  those  who  find  present  things  excellent, 
or  by  those  who  are  afraid  of  all  reform." 

"  This  is  my  sentence,"  said  Mile.  Andre,  curtly. 
"  You  will  take  breakfast  in  the  refectory,  and  I 
shall  announce  at  the  end  of  the  meal  that  I  am 
going  to  send  you  home  to  your  parents.  Such 
scandals  cannot  end  without  an  example  being 
made." 

I  breakfasted  with  good  appetite,  and  when  I 
heard  the  sentence  delivered  I  was  neither  ashamed 
nor  remorseful.  My  only  fear  was  that  I  might  be 
severely  blamed  by  my  grandmother. 

I  said  to  myself  that  in  any  case  I  would  have 
recourse  to  my  father,  who  could  but  uphold  me 
for  having  defended  our  common  cause,  and  for 
having  suffered  for  our  opinions. 

I  rose  proudly  and  replied,  at  least  with  appar- 
ent calmness,  for  in  reality  my  heart  was  almost 
strangling  me,  so  fast  did  it  beat : 

"  I  am  delighted  to  leave ;  I  stifle  under  oppres- 
sion, and  I  am  going  to  be  free  at  last ! " 
[341] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

I  said  good-bye  to  no  one.  I  went  and  put  on 
my  hat  and  waited  for  Mile.  Sophie,  who  was  to 
take  me  back  to  grandmother. 

My  friends  considered  me  an  heroic  victim  to  my 
cause,  but  were  not  sorry,  so  one  of  them  told  me 
later,  to  be  relieved  from  the  excitement  I  caused 
them. 

My  grandmother  was  at  first  disturbed  on  hear- 
ing the  story  of  my  escapade ;  but,  seeing  my  reso- 
lute attitude,  she  thought  more  of  winning  me  back 
than  of  scolding  me,  for,  during  her  last  days  of 
fright,  fearing  the  insurgents  would  come,  she  was 
all  the  more  unhappy  at  not  having  me  with  her 
in  the  danger  threatening  the  town.  She  had 
thought  continually  of  sending  for  me.  Since  I 
had  returned,  why  should  she  be  angry  ?  So,  with 
quickly  recovered  calmness,  she  replied  to  Mile. 
Sophie : 

"  As  you  consider  Juliette's  action  an  act  of  in- 
subordination toward  you,  you  are  quite  right  to 
bring  her  back  to  me.  But,  permit  me  to  tell  you 
that  I  think  her  conduct  unusual.  It  shows  me 
Juliette  as  I  love  to  see  her — giving  proof  of  a 
strong  will  and  a  courage  that  everyone  does  not 
possess.  Although  the  child  returns  to  me  without 
my  having  sent  for  her,  neither  she  nor  I  will  suffer 
from  it,  and,  mademoiselle,  I  have  a  greater  desire 
[342] 


DARK  DAYS  FOR  THE  REPUBLIC 

to  thank  you  for  having  brought  her  back  to  me 
than  to  ask  pardon  for  her." 

I  threw  myself  into  grandmother's  arms,  and  all 
trace  of  ill-feeling  between  us  disappeared. 

Panic  was  on  the  increase  during  the  following 
days.  They  said  that  the  insurgents,  driven  out 
of  Paris,  were  coming  to  sack  the  town;  the  Na- 
tional Guard  went  to  bar  the  way  against  the  plun- 
derers. Grandmother,  in  spite  of  my  reassuring 
words,  was  terrified.  She  hid  at  night,  in  a  large 
hole  which  grandfather  dug  in  our  courtyard,  her 
silver,  her  jewels,  all  the  valuable  things  she  pos- 
sessed. Blondeau  also  buried  his  money-box  in  the 
hole,  which  they  covered  with  earth  and  gravel. 

My  father,  to  whom  grandmother  had  written, 
sent  me  a  letter  of  congratulation  at  having  left  a 
school  where  they  taught  nothing  but  inane  middle- 
class  ideas. 


[343] 


XXXVI 

ANOTHER    VISIT    AT    CHIVRES 

THEN  had  a  long  vacation,  which  began  the 
1st  of  July  and  did  not  finish  until  the  1st 
of  October. 

I  remained  three  months  with  my  aunts  at 
Chivres,  to  their  great  delight. 

I  took  intense  pleasure  in  the  study  of  Latin, 
and  made  real  progress  in  the  reading  and  trans- 
lating of  the  "  bucolics." 

My  aunts,  however,  sermonised  me  severely  on 
the  reason  for  my  having  been  sent  away  from 
school.  The  National  had  inspired  them  with  a 
holy  horror  of  the  plunderers,  of  those  who  had  been 
"  bought  up  by  the  foreigner,"  and  the  twelve 
thousand  men  who  had  been  killed  in  the  June  riots. 
The  twenty  thousand  prisoners  and  exiles  did  not 
soften  their  hearts  for  a  moment.  My  harangues 
interested  them  as  ill-sustained  paradoxes,  but  did 
not  convince  them  in  any  way. 

The  citizen  Louis  Blanc,  with  his  project  of  a 
conciliatory  proclamation;  the  citizen  Caussidiere, 
with  his  extraordinary  motion  to  have  the  Deputies 
go  into  the  streets,  to  send  them  to  the  barricades 
and  to  the  insurgents  with  a  flag  of  truce,  had 
exasperated  them.  They  were  merciless.  The 
[344] 


ANOTHER  VISIT  AT  CHIVRES 

stories  of  the  cruelties  of  the  National  Guards  in 
the  provinces,  and  of  the  Mobile  Guard  firing  on 
the  insurgent  prisoners  through  the  vent-holes  of 
cellars,  did  not  revolt  them.  It  was  necessary  to 
kill  as  many  as  possible  of  those  "  mad  dogs,"  they 
said.  And  it  was  gentle  Frenchwomen,  faithful 
Liberals — or  believing  themselves  such — who  spoke 
thus !  Marguerite  knew  nothing  of  the  truth  con- 
cerning it.  To  her  the  insurgents  were  savages, 
devils,  etc. ;  and  I  could  not  make  any  feeling  of 
clemency,  any  pity,  enter  into  the  minds  or  hearts 
of  Marguerite  or  my  aunts.  They  had  all  been  too 
frightened. 

While  my  father  was  alarmed,  and  cried  out 
against  the  abomination  of  seeing  men  who  for 
long  years  had  defended  liberty,  who  had  called 
themselves  its  soldiers,  condemn  and  persecute  the 
people  to  whom  they  had  made  public  and  solemn 
promises  to  act  for  their  good,  and  who  had  only 
asked  them  to  keep  those  promises  within  the  meas- 
ure of  possibility,  my  aunts  spoke  of  Pascal  Du- 
prat,  a  Democratic-Republican,  as  a  sublime  man, 
who,  while  pretending  to  wish  to  save  the  Republic, 
had  been  the  first  man  to  demand  a  Dictatorship. 

The  death  of  General  Brea,  killed  by  two  ac- 
knowledged Bonapartists,  Luc  and  Lhar;  that  of 
Archbishop  Affre,  due  to  an  accident  and  not  to 
[345] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ah  assassination,  were,  to  my  aunts,  premeditated 
crimes,  whose  expiation  demanded  the  death  of 
thousands  of  men  belonging  to  "  the  most  ignoble 
and  abject  populace." 

My  aunt  Constance  still  trembled  as  she  told  me 
of  her  emotion  when  she  had  read  the  words  of  the 
President  of  the  Chambers,  mounting  the  tribune 
to  say :  "  All  is  finished !  " 

It  would  have  been  folly  to  endeavour  to  convert 
my  aunts  to  a  more  enlightened  feeling  of  human- 
ity. I  gave  up  trying  to  do  it.  I  read  the  Na- 
tional  in  secret,  Marguerite  giving  it  to  me  after 
my  aunts  and  great-grandmother  had  read  it  in 
turn,  and  I  suffered  every  day  with  renewed  sor- 
row at  the  violence  of  the  reaction,  the  sentences  of 
the  Council  of  War,  at  the  persecutions,  the  de- 
nunciations, the  state  of  the  public  mind,  which  my 
father  wrote  to  me  had  become  so  Caesarian  that 
it  would  throw  us  into  the  arms  of  Napoleon,  who 
had  been  too  delicately  brought  up  by  England 
to  subdue  us. 

The  night  session,  when  the  prosecution  of  Louis 
Blanc  and  Caussidiere  was  voted,  delighted  my 
aunts.  They  would  not  even  read  Louis  Blanc's 
justification,  much  changed  though  it  was  in  the 
National,  for  I  compared  it  later  with  the  text  of 
the  Democratic  Pacifique,  which  my  father  sent  to 

[346] 


ANOTHER  VISIT  AT  CHIVRES 

me.  In  my  aunts'  opinion,  and  in  that  of  all  the 
middle  class,  Louis  Blanc  was  "  the  founder,  the 
responsible  author  of  the  monstrous  national  work- 
shops." 

Now,  Louis  Blanc  proved  in  court,  what  his  par- 
tisans had  known  for  a  long  time,  that  the  national 
workshops  had  been  established  not  only  without 
his  participation,  but  against  his  will,  and  that  he 
had  not  visited  them  even  once. 

The  obstinacy  of  holding  to  a  preconceived 
opinion  against  absolute  proof,  admitting  no  dis- 
cussion, seemed  to  me  at  that  time  the  most  ex- 
traordinary thing  in  the  world.  I  endeavoured 
several  times  to  read  Louis  Blanc's  protestation  to 
my  aunts ;  they  would  not  listen  to  it,  not  wishing 
to  hear  it,  or  to  be  convinced  by  it,  and  they  con- 
tinued to  call  him  the  "  sinister  man  of  the  national 
workshops." 

I  confess  that  this  obstinacy  irritated  me,  and 
that  my  affection  for  my  dear  aunt's  suffered  from 
it. 

Louis  Napoleon  was  elected  in  five  departments 
at  the  supplementary  elections.  The  terms  he  used 
in  thanking  his  electors,  for  different  reasons,  pro- 
voked both  my  father  and  my  grandmother,  and 
my  aunts  as  well,  whose  disgust  for  "  Badinguet " 
increased  daily. 

[347] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  The  Democratic-Republic  shall  be  my  relig- 
ion," said  Louis  Napoleon,  "  and  I  will  be  its 
priest." 

My  grandfather  would  certainly  have  made  a 
wry  face  at  this  speech,  had  he  not  always  had  the 
habit  of  saying,  concerning  all  the  manifestations 
of  him  whom  he  called  his  "  beloved  Pretender  " : 

"  He  is  admirable,  in  the  way  he  scoffs  at  the 
republican  birds." 

They  talked  of  nothing  but  "  Badinguet  "  at  my 
aunts'  all  through  September  and  October — of 
his  oath  of  gratitude  and  devotion  to  the  National 
Assembly,  of  the  repeal  of  the  law  of  1832,  which 
gave  the  Bonapartes  liberty  to  live  in  France.  I 
heard  my  aunts  continually  discussing  the  good 
faith  of  pretenders. 

"  Certain  republicans  are  absurdly  simple  when 
they  believe  that  an  oath  cannot  be  violated,"  said 
aunt  Sophie.  "  One  must  know  one's  Roman  his- 
tory very  little  not  to  see  that '  Badinguet '  is  play- 
ing the  eternal  game  of  the  Caesars." 

"  When  once  they  have  voted  to  have  a  Presi- 
dent of  the  Republic,  and  have  chosen  '  a  man  of 
the  Brumaire,'  when  men  of  moderate  opinions  up- 
hold this  proceeding,  what  can  possibly  enlighten 
them?  How  can  de  Lamartine  uphold  such  aber- 
ration of  mind  with  his  authority?  Unless  he  de- 
[348] 


ANOTHER  VISIT  AT  CHIVRES 

ceives  himself  to  the  extent  of  thinking  he  will  be 
named  President  of  the  Republic,  his  conduct  is 
inexplicable,"  said  aunt  Constance. 

Politics  still  interested  me  a  little  in  conversa- 
tion, but  when  I  did  not  talk  of  them,  I  thought 
no  more  about  them. 

"  Men  are  worth  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said 
aunt  Anastasie  one  day ;  "  I  do  not  know  a  single 
man  who  has  a  just  mind." 

"  You  know  so  many !  "  replied  aunt  Constance, 
with  her  habitual  scoffing.  "  I  never  knew  you  to 
have  but  three  masculine  friends:  the  miller,  his 
mill-keeper,  and  Roussot !  " 

I  worked  happily  with  aunt  Sophie,  who  found 
me  very  desirous  to  learn  Latin,  and  less  occupied 
with  explaining  or  contradicting  everything.  I 
no  longer  sought  for  eccentricities  in  ideas  or  opin- 
ions. I  studied  methodically,  realising  how  much 
time  I  had  lost. 

I  felt  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  perhaps,  that 
I  had  only  a  very  youthful  mind;  that  I  had  for 
a  long  while  really  learned  but  little,  but,  like  a 
parrot,  had  remembered  a  good  deal.  I  condemned 
myself  as  pretentious,  insupportable,  and  I  re- 
solved that  I  would  begin  to  be  quite  a  different 
person,  desirous  solely  to  learn,  and  to  be  very  stu- 
dious and  proper. 

[349] 


XXXVII 

I   BEGIN    TO    STUDY   HOUSEKEEPING 

|HEN  I  returned  to  Chauny  my  grandmother, 
whom  I  found  more  affectionate,  more  lov- 
able than  ever,  said  to  me: 

"  Now,  my  dear  Juliette,  you  shall  do  what  you 
choose;  you  shall  learn  only  what  pleases  you,  or 
nothing  at  all,  if  you  prefer  it;  but  I  ask  you  to 
take  an  interest  in  housekeeping.  You  shall  have 
entire  charge  of  ours  for  six  months.  You  shall 
order,  you  shall  spend  as  if  you  were  absolute 
mistress.  I  reserve  for  myself  only  the  right  of 
giving  you  advice.  As  you  love  order,  to  arrange 
things,  and  to  ornament  a  house,  it  will  be  easy 
for  you  to  do  all  this  with  taste.  If  you  de- 
sire to  have  lessons  in  cooking,  you  have  only  to 
tell  me.  I  should  like  you  to  realise  how  much  an 
art  embellishes  life — that  of  music  especially. 
The  new  organist  is  a  remarkably  good  professor. 
I  know  you  do  not  care  for  the  piano,  but  I  should 
like  you  to  cultivate  your  voice,  and  I  should  be 
glad  if  you  would  try  the  violin ;  but,  I  repeat,  you 
shall  do  just  as  you  choose  in  everything." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  keep  house,  grand- 
[350] 


I  BEGIN  TO  STUDY  HOUSEKEEPING 

mother,  it  will  amuse  me  a  great  deal;  and  I  will 
try  the  violin,  it  is  original;  I  will  cultivate  my 
voice  also,  and,  since  you  leave  me  absolutely  free 
to  do  as  I  please  with  regard  to  my  ordinary  stud- 
ies, that  will  give  me  time,  grandmother,  to  reflect 
about  the  little  I  know  of  elementary  things." 

I  reflected  so  seriously  that,  after  a  few  days,  I 
told  grandmother  that  I  would  ask  my  father  to 
draw  me  up  a  plan  of  study,  so  that  while  becoming 
the  prospective  mistress  of  a  house — which  idea 
fascinated  me  more  and  more — I  could  improve 
myself  somewhat  in  spelling,  arithmetic,  geogra- 
phy, and  French  literature,  of  which  I  knew  but 
little. 

I  suggested  to  grandmother  an  idea  that  pleased 
her — to  have  M.  Tavernier,  the  master  of  the 
school  where  my  father  had  been  professor,  give 
me  lessons,  as  he  was  particularly  clever,  it  was 
said,  in  inspiring  his  pupils  with  a  love  of  study. 

My  father  approved  all  my  plans,  especially 
that  of  having  chosen  for  my  professor  a  man 
whose  merits  he  had  heard  praised. 

He  began  by  telling  me  I  must  copy  five  pages 
of  Racine  every  day,  and  he  read  to  me  the  first 
five  pages,  pointing  out  to  me  the  beauty  of  the 
phrases,  the  musical  sonority  of  the  words.  It 
was  curious  that  my  father,  with  his  exaggerated, 
[351] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ardent  political  opinions,  should  be  purely  classical 
in  his  literary  tastes,  having  an  admiration  only 
for  the  literature  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  their 
imitators. 

What  admirable  lessons  I  received  from  him 
during  the  few  hours  he  spent  at  Chauny!  We 
both  worked  in  my  pretty,  well-ordered  room,  al- 
ways full  of  flowers,  whose  old  furniture  he  dis- 
liked, calling  it  "  trumpery,"  but  where  he  was 
happy,  all  the  same. 

"  Literature  is  the  great  consolation,"  my  father 
said  to  me ;  "  everything  else  fails  us,  that  alone 
remains.  At  Epidaurus  the  doctors  of  ancient 
times  declared  that  the  last  traces  of  an  illness  did 
not  disappear  until  the  convalescent  person  had 
felt  his  mind  enlarge  with  admiration  on  listening 
to  the  verses  of  Sophocles  and  of  Euripides." 

My  father's  dearest  dream  was  to  travel  in 
Greece.  "  No  one  would  enjoy  it  more  than  I," 
he  said,  and  added :  "  Be  a  Greek,  Juliette,  if  you 
wish  to  live  a  privileged  life  in  the  worship  of  what 
is  eternally  beautiful,  of  that  which  elevates  man 
above  his  epoch." 

Always  deeply  distressed  about  politics,  execrat- 
ing General  Cavaignac,  who  had,  he  said,  more 
than  anyone  else,  opposed  all  attempts  at  concilia- 
tion "  in  order  to  plant  his  banner  in  ground  sod- 
[352] 


I  BEGIN  TO  STUDY  HOUSEKEEPING 

den  with  blood,"  my  father,  alarmed  at  the  progress 
Bonapartism  was  making  in  the  country,  and  who 
until  now  had  talked  to  me  only  of  public  events, 
scarcely  ever  mentioned  them  any  more. 

One  day,  when  I  asked  him  the  reason  for  this 
silence,  he  said  to  me :  "  Since  the  love  of  politics 
is  the  most  grievous  of  all  passions  when  one  is  sin- 
cere, the  most  deceptive  when  one  is  loyal,  the  most 
despairing  when  one  loves  justice,  leave  politics 
alone.  Perhaps  better  days  will  be  born  from  our 
present  sufferings.  Await  them.  We,  the  old, 
enlisted  combatants,  cannot  leave  the  field  of  battle, 
but  why  should  you  enter  it?  " 

The  proclamation  of  Louis  Napoleon :  "  If  I  am 
made  President,  I  promise  to  leave  to  my  successor, 
at  the  end  of  four  years,  strengthened  power,  lib- 
erty intact,  and  real  progress  accomplished  " — this 
shameless  lie  alone  reawakened  my  political  indig- 
nation. Grandfather,  who  read  it  to  us,  burst  out 
laughing.  The  five  million  votes  which  had  elected 
Louis  Napoleon  President  of  the  Republic  seemed 
to  me  an  insane  act  of  the  French  people.  From 
having  heard  grandfather  say  that  all  Bonapart- 
ists  made  game  of  Republican  riff-raff,  I  believed 
it,  and  was  not  surprised  when  he  said  to  us  one 
Jay: 

"  My  Pretender  has  sworn  to  be  unfaithful  to 
24  [  353  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

the  democratic  Republic,  and  not  to  defend  the 
Constitution.  The  fools  believe  he  has  pledged  his 
faith  to  the  contrary !  Well !  I'll  wager  my  life 
that  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  simple  Prince 
Louis,  a  simple  Bonaparte,  will  be,  before  the  ex- 
piration of  his  Presidency,  the  Emperor  Na- 
poleon III." 

"  Alas !  he  is  right,"  said  my  father,  who  was 
listening  to  grandfather,  and  when  talking  to  me 
one  day  later  of  his  sadness,  his  heart-sickness,  re- 
proaching himself  for  having  preached  his  beloved 
doctrines  so  earnestly  to  me,  for  having  initiated 
me  too  young  in  the  disillusions  of  life,  he  said: 
"  I  implore  you,  Juliette,  banish  from  your  memory 
this  lamentable  year.  Your  youth  must  not  be  fed 
on  doubt,  your  faith  in  the  future  must  not  be 
shadowed  by  death.  I  have  weighed  men,  and  I 
despise  and  hate  them.  As  to  the  principles  in 
which  I  believed,  they  have  received  so  many  blows 
that  I  no  longer  know  what  I  wish  or  what  I  do 
not  wish.  The  Liberals  are  no  sooner  in  power 
than  they  become  cynically  authoritative.  The 
Republicans  have  scarcely  left  the  ranks  of  the 
governed,  to  become  governors  themselves,  -before 
a  touch  of  madness  seems  to  enter  their  minds,  and 
they  become  Caesarian.  All  my  beautiful  edifice 
has  fallen  down,  stone  by  stone.  I  am  crushed  be- 
[354] 


I  BEGIN  TO  STUDY  HOUSEKEEPING 

neath  it.  If,  for  a  short  moment,  I  knew  the  joy 
of  building  it,  its  ruin  has  soon  followed.  I  would 
not  at  any  price  impose  upon  your  young  life  the 
pain  of  living  amid  its  destruction.  I  will  not 
speak  to  you  again  of  politics,  I  will  not  write  to 
you  about  them.  You  must  take  note  only  of 
facts,  and  feel  compassion  that  each  one  will  be  a 
fresh  torture  to  your  father." 

My  grandmother  felt  much  pity  for  her  son-in- 
law's  sorrows  and  disillusions.  "  He  exaggerates, 
but  he  is  sincere,"  she  said,  "  and  he  has  a  heart  of 
gold." 

My  father's  only  consolation  was  to  occupy  him- 
self a  great  deal  with  me.  He  advised  that,  as  I 
had  not  studied  primary  branches,  I  should  go  back 
to  the  sources  of  our  literature.  He  read  me 
numerous  passages  from  Homer  in  the  text,  to  fa- 
miliarise me  with  the  admirable  sonorities  of  our 
"  initiative  tongue,"  as  he  called  it.  He  dictated 
to  me,  word  by  word,  entire  chapters  from  the  Iliad 
and  from  the  Odyssey,  those  which  he  thought  the 
most  beautiful,  saying  to  me  that  we  had  years 
before  us,  and  that  he  would  take  charge  of  my 
instruction  in  Greek. 

"  You  shall  learn  with  me  the  history  of  that 
nation  in  which  nature  incarnated  herself  to  such 
a  degree  that  she  made  it  supernatural.  Your 
[355] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

aunt  Sophie  will  teach  you  as  much  Latin  as  is 
necessary  for  a  cultivated  woman  to  know.  She 
loves  and  understands  Roman  literature,  and  I  do 
not  fear  that  she  will  reap  for  Rome's  benefit  the 
admiration  I  shall  have  sown  in  your  mind  for 
Athens.  At  Chauny  you  will  have  an  exception- 
ally good  professor  of  literature,  who  will  teach  you 
many  things  you  will  never  forget,  and  who  will 
interest  your  grandmother  in  your  studies,  which 
will  take  her  somewhat  away  from  her  novels.  All 
this  seems  excellent  to  me,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that, 
if  you  desire  it,  you  will  succeed  in  knowing  more 
than  all  the  schoolmates  you  left  behind  in  your 
monotonous  boarding-school ! " 


[356] 


XXXVIII 

AN    EXCITING    INCIDENT 

JOME  months  of  1849  passed,  during  which  I 
acquired  much  serious  elementary  knowledge; 
but  all  my  ardour  was  spent  on  the  study  of  Gre- 
cian, Latin,  foreign,  and  French  literature.  I 
identified  myself  with  the  characters  of  certain 
works,  and  acted  their  parts.  My  grandparents  and 
Blondeau  lived  happily,  occupied  with  me,  inter- 
ested in  all  that  I  did,  amused  by  the  superabun- 
dance of  vitality  which  I  put  into  everything,  and 
lent  themselves  to  taking  part,  as  they  had  pre- 
viously done,  in  my  most  fantastic  caprices.  When 
a  book  pleased  me,  they  were  obliged  to  assume  the 
characters  of  the  principal  personages  of  the  book, 
to  speak  their  language,  to  discuss  their  acts,  and 
to  take  part  in  imaginary  conversations  which 
these  persons  might  have  held  among  themselves. 
I  began  to  write  poetry  again — perhaps  rather  bet- 
ter than  my  first  attempts — and  poems  naturally 
were  my  chief  delight,  those  of  Homer  above  all. 
When  I  was  at  Blerancourt,  my  father  would  con- 
sent to  be  called  Ulysses,  and  my  mother  Penelope, 

[357] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

although  she  sometimes  rebelled  against  the  role  I 
gave  her. 

I  was  Nausicaa.  I  had  a  passion  for  washing, 
and  dabbled  in  water  with  delight.  My  father 
found  me  many  times  before  a  tub  filled  with  soap- 
suds, and  would  address  me  as  "  Nausicaa  with 
white  arms."  He  would  recite  to  me  the  words  of 
the  seventh  canto  of  the  Odyssey: 

"  *  It  seems  to  me  best  to  implore  you  by  caress- 
ing words,  keeping  afar  from  you,  for  fear  of  irri- 
tating your  heart ; '  "  and  he  would  add : 

"  '  I  compare  you  in  height  and  in  presence  to 
Diana,  daughter  of  great  Jupiter;  but  if  you  are 
a  mortal,  inhabiting  earth,  thrice  happy  are  your 
father  and  mother.  I  am  seized  with  admiration 
on  seeing  you.  So  did  I  see  one  day  at  Delos  near 
Apollo's  altar  a  young  sprig  of  a  growing  palm- 
tree!'" 

And  he  would  continue,  going  from  one  verse  to 
another,  as  it  pleased  him  to  select  them,  and  I 
would  answer  him,  for  I  knew  he  loved  the  poems, 
so  many  times  repeated  by  heart. 

During  my  visit  to  him  that  summer,  my  father 
had  a  great  sorrow,  in  which  I  took  part  and  from 
which  he  suffered  so  deeply  that  it  touched  even 
my  mother's  heart.  His  last  hopes  were  cruelly 
taken  from  him. 

[358] 


AN  EXCITING  INCIDENT 


On  the  15th  of  June,  he  informed  me  that  Ledru- 
Rollin  had,  on  the  13th,  asked  the  new  Assembly, 
which  had  just  been  elected,  and  whose  majority 
was  reactionary,  for  a  bill  of  indictment  against 
the  Prince-President  and  his  Ministers,  who  were 
found  guilty  of  having  violated  the  Constitution. 
Under  the  false  pretext  of  saving  Italian  liberty, 
our  intervention  had  culminated  by  the  entrance  of 
French  troops  into  Rome,  re-establishing  the  Pope. 

What  overwhelmed  my  father,  and  made  him  des- 
pair the  most,  was  not  so  much  the  failure  of  their 
motion,  as  the  hesitating,  ridiculous  part  played  by 
the  last  two  champions  of  his  opinions — Ledru- 
Rollin  and  Victor  Considerant — in  their  attempted 
appeal  to  the  people  with  what  was  called  "  the 
affair  of  the  Arts  and  Trades,"  and  their  rather 
pitiable  flight  through  the  back  doors  of  the  school. 
Were  they  also  worth  nothing  as  heads  of  the  op- 
position party  ?  Had  they  no  courage  ?  " 

In  July  all  the  trees  of  liberty  were  dug  up, 
and  my  father,  who  had  accepted  the  function  of 
Mayor  in  order  to  plant  one  of  these  trees,  re- 
signed his  office  on  the  day  the  tree  was  thrown 
down. 

He  then  began  to  condemn,  in  equal  measure,  the 
monarchists  and  the  reactionary  republicans. 

He  was  destined  to  suffer  blow  after  blow. 
[359] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Since  the  insurrection  of  June,  1848,  secret  so- 
cieties had  been  formed,  some  of  which  were  to 
fight  against  reaction,  others  to  prepare  the  Em- 
pire, as  the  insurrection  of  the  10th  of  December 
had  done,  and  all  these  societies  kept  watch  upon 
one  another.  The  Bonapartists  denounced,  above 
all,  those  called  "  Marianne." 

Perquisitions  took  place,  and  were  called  "  domi- 
ciliary visits."  The  reactionists  affirmed  that  the 
obj  ect  of  certain  of  these  societies  was  to  overthrow 
the  Republic,  which  was  only  a  pretext  for  hunting 
down  Republicans. 

The  pleasure  I  had  taken  in  searching  for  my 
grandfather's  hiding-places  for  his  money  had 
caused  me  to  remark  my  father's  goings  and  com- 
ings to  the  garret,  which  I  concluded  must  arise 
from  his  hiding  something  there.  So  I  determined 
to  find  out  what  it  was,  and  I  discovered  a  hole  be- 
tween two  rafters,  which  held  a  large  package  of 
papers,  lists  of  names,  proofs  of  the  organisation 
of  a  society,  the  members  of  which  had  taken  oath 
to  fight  against  the  tyrants,  to  answer  the  first  call 
to  insurrection,  etc. 

One  day  my  mother  said  to  my  father :  "  You 

should  burn  the  papers  of  the  '  Marianne,'  which 

are  so  compromising  to  many  persons.     Since  you 

do  not  dare  to  meet  any  longer,  it  would  be  better 

[360] 


AN  EXCITING  INCIDENT 


to  rid  yourself  of  the  official  reports  and  the  lists, 
which  seem  to  me  dangerous  to  keep." 

"  I  have  thought  about  it,"  my  father  replied, 
"  and  I  will  begin  to-morrow  to  convoke  our 
brothers  and  friends,  two  by  two,  to  ask  their  con- 
sent to  destroy  our  archives." 

That  same  evening  I  made  myself  a  large  pocket 
attached  to  a  string  which  I  could  tie  around  my 
waist,  and  which  I  put  on  the  next  morning. 

It  was  time!  My  father  had  not  gathered  to- 
gether ten  of  the  associated  members  of  the  "  Ma- 
rianne "  (were  there  traitors  among  "  the  brothers 
and  friends"  convoked  separately?)  before  an 
agent  of  the  Republic,  at  the  head  of  a  commis- 
sion, came  to  our  house  one  morning  at  breakfast- 
time,  and,  showing  his  papers  of  authority,  he  be- 
gan to  ransack  in  my  father's  writing-desk,  aided 
by  two  policemen.  My  father  was  overwhelmed; 
my  heart  seemed  turned  into  stone.  I  watched  our 
visitors  doing  their  work,  concocting  the  while  a 
plan  in  my  mind.  I  even  helped  them  by  pointing 
out  things  in  an  amiable  way,  and  I  went  so  far 
as  to  say,  laughingly,  to  the  agent  of  the  Republic : 

"  What  you  are  doing  is  not  very  nice,  Mon- 
sieur; it  might  even  be  called  indiscreet." 

The  agent  and  his  colleagues  were  amused  at  my 
conversation. 

[361] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Then  I  said  suddenly  to  my  mother : 

"  Mamma,  will  you  let  me  go  and  tell  Blatier 
(the  gardener,  who  was  looking,  frightened, 
through  the  window)  to  place  some  cider  to  cool, 
so  that  you  can  offer  some  to  these  gentlemen  ?  It 
is  so  hot !  " 

My  mother  made  a  sign  of  assent.  She  had 
wished  a  moment  before  to  go  into  another  room, 
but  one  of  the  policemen  had  stopped  her.  They 
allowed  me  to  go  out,  however.  I  told  Blatier  to 
draw  some  water  from  the  well,  and  I  went  with  him, 
feeling  myself  followed  by  the  eyes  of  a  policeman, 
who  was  looking  out  of  the  window.  While  the  gar- 
dener drew  the  water,  I  went  down  into  the  cellar, 
and  came  up  with  some  bottles,  which  I  placed  in 
the  pail  of  cold  water.  Then  I  dallied  over  several 
things,  went  down  in  the  cellar  again,  looked  for 
another  pail  for  more  bottles,  which  I  brought  up, 
and  I  then  pretended  to  enter  the  house  slowly. 
Then  I  flew  with  a  bound  to  the  garret-door,  and 
with  another  bound  entered  it,  after  having  taken 
off  my  shoes,  so  as  not  to  be  heard,  for  the  house 
had  but  one  story.  I  put  the  papers  in  my 
pocket,  slid  down  the  staircase  and  entered  my  par- 
ents' room  tranquilly,  where  the  police  were  rum- 
maging into  everything. 

My  mother,  trembling,  gave  them  the  keys  of 

[362] 


AN  EXCITING  INCIDENT 


the  drawers.  My  father,  seated,  did  not  move.  I 
prepared  a  tray  myself,  and  went  outside  to  have 
the  water  in  the  pails  changed.  I  soon  returned 
and  offered  some  cold  cider  to  our  visitors,  who 
were  delighted. 

They  ransacked  the  stable,  the  carriage-house, 
the  cellar,  and  the  garret. 

When  my  father  heard  them  go  upstairs,  he  rose, 
his  face  convulsed,  and  I  saw  from  my  mother's 
expression  that  she  was  saying  to  herself :  "  The 
papers  must  be  up  there — we  are  lost !  " 

I  took  a  glassful  of  cider  and  approached  my 
father,  always  watched  by  the  policeman.  He 
pushed  my  glass  away.  I  leaned  over  him'  as 
if  urging  him  to  drink,  and  whispered  these  words 
to  him: 

"  Don't  let  your  face  change.  I  have  the  pa- 
pers !  " 

I  kissed  him,  which  seemed  to  touch  the  police- 
man's heart,  and  my  father  clasped  me  in  his 
arms. 

Thanks  to  me,  these  men  had  discovered  nothing 
of  any  importance. 

The  agent  of  the  Republic  said  to  me :  "  Made- 
moiselle, I  am  glad  to  announce  to  you  that  we 
have  found  nothing  compromising  to  your  father. 
It  would  have  been  serious  for  him  if  we  had  been 
[363] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

obliged  to  state  certain  facts  which  we  had  been 
informed  existed,  for  your  father's  name  figures  on 
the  list  for  arrest,  and  he  might  have  been  impris- 
oned, even  exiled.  He  has  the  reputation  of  being 
a  dangerous  revolutionist,  and,  besides,  he  is  ac- 
cused of  making  proselytes." 

"  Thank  you,  Monsieur,"  I  replied.  "  You 
must  have  a  daughter  yourself,  to  act  in  such  fa- 
therly fashion  to  me." 

The  agent  smiled,  but  did  not  answer  me.  He 
bowed  to  my  mother  and  father,  and  left. 

I  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and  I  watched 
"  the  domiciliary  commission  "  for  some  minutes ; 
then  I  bolted  the  door,  locked  it,  and  went  into  the 
dining-room,  where  I  found  my  father  prostrated. 

"  From  the  expression  of  your  face,"  said  my 
mother  to  him,  "  it  is  lucky  they  did  not  find  the 
papers,  which  must  be  in  the  garret." 

My  father  answered: 

"  Juliette  has  them !  " 

"  How  did  she  get  them  ?  " 

I  raised  my  skirt,  and  cried,  victoriously: 

"  This  is  how  one  can  fool  those  who  make  per- 
quisitions !  " 

I  told  my  parents  that  I  had  learned  the  impor- 
tance of  the  papers  from  what  my  mother  had 
said,  and  of  my  fondness  for  finding  hiding-places. 
[364] 


AN  EXCITING  INCIDENT 


My  father  recovered  from  his  emotion,  and  felt 
great  indignation. 

"  Such  a  republic,"  he  said  one  day,  soon  after 
the  famous  visit,  "  is  more  odious  to  me  than  the 
monarchy  has  ever  been.  May  I  see  before  long 
those  who  pretend  to  serve  this  Republic  of  lies, 
and  who,  really,  only  try  to  persecute  Republicans, 
grovel  before  one  and  the  same  tyrant,  and  all  be 
crushed  together  under  his  heel ! " 


[365] 


XXXIX 

AN    OFFER    OF    MARRIAGE 

PITIED  my  father  for  all  he  was  suffering 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  but  had  not, 
in  truth,  his  own  Utopian  ideas  brought  about 
what  he  called  "  the  lawless  reaction  "  ?  Grand- 
mother said  to  me :  "  Juliette,  how  can  you  expect 
a  country  to  consent  to  be  guided  politically  by 
good  people  as  mad  as  your  father?  They  make 
public  opinion  fly  to  the  extreme  opposite  of 
their  quixotic  ideas."  And  I  agreed  with  her  at 
last. 

During  all  the  latter  part  of  that  year  and  the 
beginning  of  the  next,  I  studied  very  hard,  and 
I  recall  with  pleasure  one  of  my  first  literary  suc- 
cesses. My  professor,  Monsieur  Tavernier,  the 
master  of  the  boys'  school  situated  opposite  to  our 
house,  in  order  to  create  a  double  emulation  among 
his  pupils,  proposed  for  me  to  compete  with  them 
for  a  prize. 

The  entire  town  was  talking  at  that  time  of  a 
terrible  storm  that  had  occurred  in  April,  and  had 
made  several  victims,  and  of  which  the  quiet  people 
of  Chauny  could  not  yet  speak  without  fright. 

[366] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


My  professor  gave  the  narration  of  the  events 
of  this  storm  to  his  pupils  and  to  me  as  our  theme 
for  competition.  I  had  followed  and  observed 
every  detail  of  the  storm,  and  had  even  noted  down 
my  observations  at  the  time:  the  fright  of  the 
birds,  the  trembling  of  the  leaves,  the  moaning  of 
the  trees,  shaken  by  the  blast;  the  terror  of  the 
people  who  passed  by,  the  disturbed  heavens,  the 
near  or  distant  sonority  of  the  claps  of  thunder, 
the  jagged  streaks  of  lightning,  the  terrible  noise 
of  a  thunderbolt  which  I  thought  had  nearly 
killed  me.  Thinking  the  storm  over,  and  stifling 
with  heat,  I  had  sat  down  in  a  current  of  air  be- 
tween two  open  windows,  opposite  to  each  other. 
The  deafening  thunderbolt  burst  and  traversed 
the  two  windows,  throwing  me  off  my  chair  on  to 
the  floor.  I  described  all  this  with  much  feeling. 

Among  the  pupils  at  the  school  were  a  good 
many  young  men  whom  I  knew,  brothers  or  rel- 
atives of  my  former  schoolmates.  They  were  all 
aware  of  the  cause  of  my  having  been  sent  away 
from  the  Miles.  Andre's  school,  and  admired  me 
as  a  "  valiant "  young  girl,  an  expression  fre- 
quently used  in  my  behalf  in  my  family,  and  with 
which  grandmother  always  endowed  me. 

I  copied  and  recopied  my  composition.  I  de- 
voted myself  to  it  with  such  intense  interest  that  it 
[367] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

gave  me  a  fever,  and  I  was  proclaimed  the  winner 
by  my  rivals  themselves.  One  of  them  came  to 
bring  me  the  news  and  to  congratulate  me.  I  was 
about  to  kiss  him,  when  grandmother  made  me  an 
imperious  sign,  so  I  simply  thanked  him,  with 
warm  gratitude. 

"  What ! "  grandmother  said  to  me  afterward, 
"  were  you  going  to  kiss  that  boy  ?  Why,  look 
at  yourself,  you  are  a  young  girl;  you  are  no 
longer  a  child." 

"  But,  grandmother,  I  shall  not  be  fourteen  be- 
fore six  months." 

"  Everyone  takes  you  for  sixteen,"  she  said. 

Grandmother  sent  my  father,  my  aunts,  and  my 
father's  family,  copies  of  my  famous  composition, 
which  she  wrote  out  herself,  keeping  the  original, 
which  I  found  twenty  years  after. 

From  that  moment  I  thought  of  nothing  but 
literature,  and  my  imagination  became  intensely 
excited. 

A  chiromancer  came  to  Chauny  at  that  time,  and 
my  grandmother  greatly  desired  that  he  should 
read  my  hand.  He  declared  that  he  distinctly  saw 
"  the  star  of  celebrity  near  Jupiter  "  in  my  hand, 
and  he  added :  "  I  shall  see  that  hand  again  some 
day ;  "  and  he  did,  in  fact,  recognise  it  twenty 
years  afterward  one  day  on  the  Riviera,  when  it 

[368] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


was  not  possible  for  him  to  suspect  who  I  was. 
From  that  day  my  grandmother  never  doubted 
about  my  future  destiny. 

At  that  time  I  made  my  family  act  the  parts  of 
Camoen's  Lusiades.  Each  one  of  us  had  his  or  her 
role ;  and,  for  more  than  a  year,  my  grandparents, 
Blondeau,  even  my  father,  who  had  become  "  Mous- 
shino  d' Albuquerque,"  preserved  the  character  of 
the  heroic  personages  we  had  chosen.  We  inter- 
mingled, to  our  great  amusement,  fiction  with 
daily  life,  and  laughed  heartily  when  commonplace 
events  compromised  the  dignity  of  "  Vasco  da 
Gama,"  whom  I  represented. 

My  grandfather,  the  "  giant  Adamastor,"  called 
his  pigeons  by  reciting  a  passage  of  the  Lusiades 
to  them.  We  knew  the  admirable  poem  literally 
by  heart.  And  how  amusing  it  was  when  a  cart 
passing  in  the  street  would  shake  our  house,  which 
had  become  our  vessel !  What  sorrowful  reflections 
we  had  on  the  dangers  we  were  running!  My 
dramatis  persona  revolted  against  my  demands 
sometimes,  especially  at  table,  where  we  were  all 
gathered  together.  I  would,  on  such  occasions, 
quiet  my  rebels  by  draping  my  napkin  around  my 
body  to  recall  the  flag  scene.  The  mixture  of  our 
admiration  for  the  poem  and  the  absurdities  of  our 
interpretations  was  so  amusing  that  it  was  difficult 
25  [  369  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

for  us  to  lay  aside  the  Lusiades  to  take  up  Walter 
Scott's  Ivanhoe,  with  which  I  was  delighted. 

My  father,  just  then,  thought  of  leaving  Ble- 
rancourt.  Grandmother's  entreaties  and  mine  pre- 
vented him  from  accomplishing  another  folly 
which  would  have  caused  him  to  lose  the  position 
he  had  acquired. 

He  wished  to  join  the  phalanstery  at  Conde-sur- 
Vesgres.  The  deputy,  Baudet  Dulary,  having 
given  a  large  portion  of  his  fortune  to  Victor  Con- 
siderant,  to  make  an  experiment  of  Fourier's  doc- 
trines, my  father  desired  to  take  part  in  this  trial, 
which  later  failed  lamentably,  but  to  which  one  of 
his  friends,  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  lent  his  active 
aid. 

During  the  spring  of  1850  a  theatrical  troupe 
came  to  Chauny.  I  had  never  been  to  the  theatre, 
except  to  hear  the  opera  of  Charles  VI.  at  Amiens, 
at  the  time  of  my  first  railway  journey.  I  had 
read  a  great  many  plays  of  all  kinds,  for  I  de- 
voured books  like  my  grandmother,  but  I  had  never 
seen  a  play  acted  in  reality. 

Blondeau  decided  that  he  would  take  me  to  see 
the  drama,  Marie  Jeanne,  ou,  La  Fille  du  Peuple. 
Grandmother  disliked  so  much  to  go  out  that 
grandfather  accompanied  Blondeau  and  me. 

The  wife  of  my  grandfather's  barber,  Lafosse, 
[370] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


who  came  to  shave  him  every  day,  and  who  lived 
in  the  Chaussee  quarter,  was  a  milliner.  Grand- 
mother commissioned  Mme.  Lafosse  to  make  me  a 
pretty  blond  lace  cap,  trimmed  with  narrow  pink 
ribbon.  They  wore  bonnets  when  they  went  to  the 
theatre  at  Chauny,  but  a  pretty  cap  was  more  ele- 
gant than  a  bonnet. 

People  looked  at  me  a  great  deal,  and  grand- 
father and  Blondeau  kept  whispering  together, 
and  I  knew  they  were  talking  of  me,  but  Marie- 
Jeanne  interested  me  more  than  my  own  appear- 
ance. 

I  heard  people  say  several  times :  "  How  old  is 
she?" 

The  young  men  looked  at  me  more  boldly  at  the 
theatre  than  in  the  street,  and  I  saw  they  were 
talking  together  about  me,  and  I  soon  knew  they 
were  not  making  fun  of  my  cap  with  narrow  pink 
ribbons,  which  I  feared  they  might  do  before  I 
went  to  the  theatre. 

I  cried  so  much  over  Marie-Jeanne  that  I  re- 
turned home  with  my  eyelids  swollen.  Grand- 
mother, who  was  waiting  for  me,  said  I  was 
very  silly  to  have  disfigured  my  eyes  in  that  way. 
But  grandfather  and  Blondeau  calmed  her  by 
whispering  to  her  as  they  had  whispered  to  each 
other. 

[371] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

All  grandmother's  friends,  men  and  women,  came 
to  see  her  during  the  week  following  the  represen- 
tation of  Marie- Jeanne,  and  told  her  I  had  made  a 
"  sensation." 

Grandmother  could  not  contain  her  joy,  and  she 
committed  the  error  of  writing  about  it  to  my 
father,  who  also  came  to  see  her,  very  angry.  The 
"  family  drama  "  assumed  tragical  proportions  on 
this  occasion.  My  father  spoke  of  his  rights,  and 
said  it  was  his  place  to  watch  over  me  and  preserve 
me  from  my  grandmother's  follies. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  had  sent  me  to  the  the- 
atre with  a  comparative  stranger  and  with  grand- 
father, whose  eccentric  habits,  to  speak  mildly  of 
them,  forbade  his  assuming  the  role  of  chaperon? 
Was  it  not  the  most  ridiculous  absurdity  to  dress 
up  a  child  not  yet  fourteen  in  a  young  woman's 
cap?  All  the  town  must  pity  me  and  ridicule 
grandmother,  he  said,  and  if  she  acted  in  this  man- 
ner I  should  never  find  a  husband ! 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  dear  Jean-Louis,  in  this 
as  in  everything  else,"  grandmother  replied  an- 
grily ;  "  for  not  only  has  the  demand  of  Juliette's 
hand  in  marriage,  that  was  made  to  me  a  year  ago, 
been  renewed,  but  just  now,  before  you  arrived,  I 
received  another." 

"  You  cannot  say  from  whom  ?  " 
[372] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


Grandmother  showed  my  father  a  letter,  and 
mentioned  a  person's  name. 

"  One  and  one  make  two,"  she  said. 

My  father  was  silent  for  an  instant,  -and  then 
replied  in  a  vexed  tone : 

"  So  you  wish  to  marry  Juliette  as  you  were 
married  yourself,  and  as  you  married  your  daugh- 
ter? " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  cruelly ;  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  make  my  grandson-in-law's  position  for  him. 
He  must  have  one  himself." 

"  I  shall  take  Juliette  home  with  me ;  she  be- 
longs to  me !  "  cried  my  father,  in  anger. 

"  I  shall  keep  the  child  you  abandoned,  and 
whom  I  rescued  from  the  poverty  in  which  you  had 
thrown  her !  " 

"  I  will  send  policemen  for  her !  " 

"  Try  it !  I  will  leave  you  all,  and  take  Juliette 
off  to  a  foreign  country." 

Then  followed  terribly  sad  days  for  me.  As- 
sailed by  letters  from  my  father,  who  did  not  come 
to  grandmother's  any  more;  by  the  visits  of  my 
mother,  who  always  found  a  way  of  irritating  me 
against  my  father  and  my  grandmother,  my  life 
became  insupportable. 

I  did  not  see  my  father  for  several  months.  All 
the  family  blamed  him.  During  the  time  I  passed 
[373] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

with  my  aunts,  they,  who  never  had  written  to  him, 
sent  him  a  letter  approving  grandmother's  actions, 
and  telling  him  he  had  no  right  to  influence  my 
mind  with  his  eccentric  ideas;  that  the  majority 
of  those  who  loved  me  possessed  certain  rights  from 
the  affection  they  felt  for  me. 

In  one  of  my  letters  to  grandmother  I  spoke 
of  this  letter  my  aunts  had  written  to  my  father, 
and  she  was  deeply  grateful  to  them  for  it. 

Strangely,  their  intervention  calmed  her,  and 
she  began  from  that  time  to  speak  less  bitterly  of 
my  father. 

By  degrees  the  quarrel  was  again  patched  up. 
I  wished  to  see  my  father  again.  I  suffered  from 
my  separation  from  him  in  my  heart,  and  in  the 
development  of  my  mind.  Becoming  more  and 
more  attached  to  my  studies  on  Greece,  I  needed 
a  guide,  and  no  one  could  replace  my  father.  I 
told  my  grandmother  how  much  I  missed  him,  how 
my  progress  in  the  study  of  literature  was  ar- 
rested, and  I  laughingly  added  that  she  was 
hindering  my  future  career  as  a  writer  by  her 
spite. 

One  day  in  the  autumn  grandmother  told  me 
that  she  would  permit  me  to  pass  Christmas  and  a 
part  of  January  at  Blerancourt. 

My  father's  sorrow  was  to  be  consoled,  and  mine 

[  374  ] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


also.  I  rejoiced  at  it  with  all  my  heart,  and  it 
was  with  transports  of  joy  that  we  met  again. 
My  father  evinced  so  much  love  for  me,  he  was  so 
tender,  so  occupied  with  everything  that  could 
please,  amuse,  or  instruct  me,  that  my  mother, 
overcome  by  one  of  her  outbursts  of  morbid  jeal- 
ousy, became  openly  hostile  to  my  father,  and  con- 
tinually tortured  me. 

I  was  nattered  by  every  one  at  grandmother's; 
I  was  humiliated  unceasingly  at  my  mother's.  If 
my  father  spoke  of  my  intelligence,  or  my  beauty, 
my  mother  said  I  was  as  stupid  as  I  was  ugly. 

It  seemed  to  me  at  that  time  that  I  was  overes- 
timated in  both  ways  by  them,  and  I  began  to 
criticise  myself,  as  I  have  always  since  done — not 
with  extreme  indulgence  nor  with  determined 
malice.  I  am  grateful  to  my  mother,  after  all, 
for  having  kept  me  from  acquiring  too  much  self- 
complacency. 

I  began  my  study  on  Greece  again,  with  delight. 
My  father  was  not  only  a  professor,  he  was  a 
poet. 

"  How  can  you  be  such  a  red  republican,  with 
such  a  love  for  Marmorean  Greece?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  With  the  Greeks,  marble  was  only  the  skele- 
ton of  architecture  and  sculpture,"  my  father  re- 
plied, "  and  in  Grecian  colours  red  predominates. 
[375] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

Besides,  there  is  no  question  of  art  in  republican 
conceptions,  but  only  of  politics.  Art  is  eternal; 
politics  is  the  science  of  an  impulse  toward  prog- 
ress. I  may  be  classical  in  my  taste  in  art,  and 
worship  what  is  antique.  In  politics  I  desire  only 
new  things.  When  the  people  shall  have  heard 
the  vivifying  good  word,  they  will  understand 
beauty  and  art  as  we  understand  it.  They  already 
appreciate  them  better  than  the  middle  class." 

I  cannot  describe  how  my  father  spoke  of  the 
people ;  the  very  word  was  pronounced  by  him  with 
fervour,  almost  religiously. 

"  Papa,"  I  replied,  "  I  want  a  white  republic, 
an  Athenian  republic,  with  an  aristocracy  which 
shall  arise  from  out  the  masses  and  which  shall 
be  the  best  portion  of  those  masses.  I  wish  a  su- 
perior caste,  which  shall  govern,  instruct,  and  en- 
lighten." 

"  And  I  wish  only  the  people,  nothing  but  the 
people,  in  which  we  shall  be  mingled  and  melted 
as  if  in  a  powerful  crucible,"  said  my  father. 
"  The  mass  of  the  people  has  sap  which  is  ex- 
hausted in  us ;  it  has  a  vitality  which  we  no  longer 
possess.  The  humble  class  is  not  responsible  for 
any  of  its  faults,  which  no  one  ever  endeavoured 
to  correct  usefully  and  intelligently  during  its 
youth.  How  admirable  it  is  in  its  natural  quali- 
[376] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 

ties,  which  so  many  elements  strive  to  mislead! 
Why  are  the  upper  classes  so  vicious?  Why  have 
they  not  given  the  people  some  elementary  instruc- 
tion before  they  tried  to  educate  them?  They 
would  not  then  have  allowed  themselves  to  be  specu- 
lated with  by  wicked  and  ambitious  men." 

The  President,  Prince  Louis  Napoleon,  passed 
reviews;  made  proselyting  journeys;  the  "Or- 
leans," as  they  then  said,  intrigued  at  Clermont, 
the  Legitimists  at  Wiesbaden;  what  remained  of 
the  republican  form  of  government  suffered  assault 
on  all  sides. 

My  father  said :  "  We  still  have  the  people  with 
us !  "  But  his  conviction  disagreed  with  the  proof, 
constantly  made  more  evident,  that  the  govern- 
ment was  eliminating  the  people  by  all  possible 
means  from  taking  part  in  national  questions. 
The  patriotic  workmen  were  influenced  by  those 
who  said  they  had  suffered  from  the  diminished 
part  played  by  France  in  Europe  under  King 
Louis  Philippe,  and  who  did  not  cease  to  recall  the 
glorious  epoch  of  Napoleon  I. 

When  I  was  with  my  father  I  was  obliged  to 
hear  politics  spoken  of,  willingly  or  not;  as  I  no 
longer  took  any  personal  interest  in  them,  as  I 
looked  upon  political  events  with  indifference,  I  did 
not  allow  myself  to  be  carried  away  by  them,  nor 

[377] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

did  I  enter  into  discussions,  and  our  life  might 
have  been  peaceful,  or  nearly  so,  but  for  my 
mother's  embittered  nature,  and  my  father's  fre- 
quent outbursts  of  anger. 

The  same  interminable  disputes  took  place, 
though  differing  in  character  from  those  between 
my  grandparents.  I  do  not  know  whether  similar 
disputes  occurred  in  all  households  at  the  time  of 
my  youth.  But  I  believe  people  were  then  more 
sensitive,  more  susceptible,  more  dramatic  than 
they  are  to-day. 

Many  years  later  my  life  was  again  mingled 
with  my  mother's  and  father's,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  in  the  reconciliations  following  these  per- 
petual disputes  there  entered  a  sort  of  excitement 
of  the  senses.  To  weep,  to  be  angry,  to  accuse 
each  other,  even  to  hate  for  a  moment,  and  then 
to  grow  calm,  to  pardon,  to  be  reconciled,  to  em- 
brace and  love  each  other — this  all  seemed  to  be 
a  need  in  their  lives  and  to  animate  their  exist- 
ence. 

My  father  could  not  master  his  terrible  par- 
oxysms of  anger;  he  would  be  in  despair  every 
time  after  he  had  given  way  to  them,  and  then 
would  yield  to  them  again  whenever  he  was  irri- 
tated. 

My  mother  would  provoke  these  paroxysms  by 
[378] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


cold  comments  or  criticisms,  ironical  and  stinging, 
such  as  these,  for  example: 

"  Monsieur  Lambert's  temper  is  going  to  be 
stormy.  We  shall  not  be  spared  the  dancing  of 
the  plates  and  glass  at  breakfast  or  dinner."  Or: 
"  The  republican  gentleman  sees  things  with  a  bad 
eye  to-day ;  we  shall  be  in  danger,"  etc.,  etc. 

As  my  character  so  much  resembled  my  father's, 
I  often  felt  anger  rising  within  me;  but  the  ex- 
ample of  my  father,  who  was  naturally  so  good 
and  so  tender,  but  who  when  blinded  by  passion 
became  bad,  even  cruel,  taught  me  to  hold  myself 
in  check,  and  I  never,  in  my  long  life,  have  allowed 
myself  to  give  way  to  violent  temper,  except  in 
moments  of  indignation  and  strong  hatred  against 
wicked  people,  or  against  my  country's  enemies. 

The  proverb :  "  An  avaricious  father,  a  prod- 
igal son,"  or  the  contrary,  is  often  used,  and 
there  is  truth  in  it;  for  children,  witnessing  their 
parents'  example,  take  note  of  their  daily  actions, 
which  are  engraved  and  imprinted  on  their  young 
minds,  never  to  be  forgotten,  and  forcing  them  to 
criticise  and  to  condemn  those  dearest  to  them. 

From  hearing  my  father  and  his  numerous 
"  friends  and  brothers  "  talk  violent,  "  advanced  " 
politics,  as  they  then  expressed  it,  I  had  become 
entirely  moderate  in  my  opinions.  How  many 

[379] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

plans  for  "  Republican  Defense  "  were  formed  in 
my  presence!  Some  men  wished  to  assassinate  the 
Prince-President;  others  to  blow  up  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies;  still  others  to  make  the  people  rise 
up  against  the  traitors. 

There  came  one  day  to  breakfast  with  my 
father  a  very  "  advanced  "  republican,  who  was, 
moreover,  a  "  Comtist,"  a  name  that  my  father 
was  obliged  to  explain  to  me,  for  it  was  the  first 
time  I  had  ever  heard  of  Auguste  Comte.  Our 
guest  was  a  lawyer  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  at 
Paris,  but  lived  at  Soissons  for  the  time  being, 
taking  charge  of  a  series  of  very  important  law- 
suits of  a  relative.  His  name  was  Monsieur  La- 
messine,  and  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
man  of  talent.  His  brilliant  conversation  pleased 
me,  but  his  scepticism  displeased  me.  He  said  that 
right  had  no  other  interest  than  that  of  being  the 
counterpart  of  wrong;  that  morality  appeared  to 
him  as  only  forming  the  counterpoise  to  immo- 
rality. He  endeavoured  to  persuade  my  father 
that  society  must  become  more  corrupted  than  it 
was  in  order  that  a  new  growth  should  spring 
from  it.  He  was  of  the  type  of  an  Italian  of  the 
South,  with  very  sombre  eyes,  a  pallid  complex- 
ion, lustrous  blue-black,  curling  hair.  His  grand- 
father, who  came  from  Sicily,  was  named  de  la 
[380] 


AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE 


Messine;  he  had  naturalized  himself  as  a  French- 
man at  the  time  of  the  great  Revolution  and  sim- 
plified his  name. 

As  usual,  I  took  part  in  the  discussions,  and 
grew  excited  over  them.  Monsieur  Lamessine  did 
the  same,  and  our  joust  was  amusing.  He  be- 
lieved in  nothing.  I  believed  in  everything.  When 
I  would  hesitate,  my  father  furnished  me  with  ar-" 
guments,  sometimes  contrary  to  his  own  ideas;  but 
he  wished  to  see  me  come  off  victorious  against  an 
unbeliever. 

Monsieur  Lamessine  left  us  laughing,  and  said 
to  me: 

"  Don't  bear  me  malice,  Mademoiselle  the 
fighter." 

I  replied: 

"  My  best  wishes,  Monsieur,  that  Heaven  may 
shed  upon  you  a  little  knowledge  of  what  is  right 
and  what  is  beautiful." 


[381] 


XL 

THE   '*  FAMILY    DRAMA  "  AGAIN 

JY  great-grandmother  at  Chivres,  who  was 
very  ill  in  March,  thought  her  end  approach- 
ing, and  wished  to  see  me.  Happily,  it  was  only  an 
alarm,  and  our  joy  was  soon  complete  at  seeing 
her  entirely  recovered. 

Under  the  pretext  that  he  was  called  by  busi- 
ness to  Conde,  Monsieur  Lamessine,  who  lived  at 
Soissons,  came  to  visit  my  aunts,  as  my  father's 
friend,  while  I  was  staying  with  them.  He  was 
rather  badly  received,  and  he  saw  me  in  my 
peasant's  costume,  which  I  had  improved  a  little, 
however,  as  grandmother  would  not  permit  me  to 
be  badly  dressed,  even  when  away  from  her. 

Attired  in  gingham,  with  a  printed  cotton  ker- 
chief, and  a  Bordeaux  cap,  I  was  not  uglier  in 
this  than  in  other  costumes.  Monsieur  Lamessine 
complimented  me  on  my  picturesque  peasant  dress. 
But  the  coolness  of  his  reception  prevented  him 
from  coming  again. 

Aunt  Constance  teased  me  about  my  suitor,  but 
I  grew  angry,  and  told  her  I  had  other  suitors 
younger  than  he,  and  begged  her  to  leave  me  alone. 
[382] 


THE  "  FAMILY  DRAMA  "  AGAIN 

Two  months  later  I  saw  Monsieur  Lamessine 
again  at  my  father's.  It  was  in  June,  1851.  The 
republicans  were  plotting  a  great  deal.  The  Pres- 
ident had  just  made  a  speech  at  Dijon,  in  which 
he  had  said  that  if  his  government  had  not  been 
able  to  realise  all  desired  ameliorations,  it  was  the 
fault  of  the  factions. 

In  Monsieur  Lamessine's  mind  and  in  my 
father's  this  speech  contained  the  threat  of  a  coup 
d'etat. 

They  gathered  together  some  friends  in  the 
evening  to  deliberate;  I,  of  course,  was  not  pres- 
ent at  these  deliberations.  My  father  only  said  to 
me  the  next  morning: 

"  The  moment  is  serious ;  but  we  have  a  man 
with  us  who  has  the  blood  of  a  '  carbonaro '  in  his 
veins.  He  will  do  something."  He  meant  Mon- 
sieur Lamessine. 

On  the  1st  of  December  M.  Lamessine  came  to 
plead  a  cause  at  Chauny.  He  brought  a  letter 
from  my  father  to  my  grandmother,  to  whom  he 
was  extremely  courteous. 

Asked  to  remain  to  dinner,  he  showed  himself 
much  less  sceptical,  and  pretended  that  my  argu- 
ments and  my  wishes  had  produced  a  great  influ- 
ence on  his  mind.  I  did  not  believe  him.  I  thought 
this  was  simply  flattery,  the  motive  for  which  I 
[383] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

could  not  explain  to  myself,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
hypocritical.  I  felt  a  sort  of  uneasiness,  an  inex- 
plicable pain,  that  evening,  and  I  left  the  draw- 
ing-room early. 

The  next  day  grandmother  said  to  me  trium- 
phantly : 

"  Monsieur  Lamessine  has  asked  for  your  hand ! 
He  pledges  his  word  to  live  in  Paris  in  three  years' 
time.  My  dream  is  realised.  His  aunt  has  given 
him  a  certain  sum  of  money  to  compensate  him  for 
having  left  the  capital,  and  for  protecting  her 
fortune,  of  which  he  has  already  recovered  a  part ; 
I,  also,  will  give  you  a  dowry;  but  I  will  not  say 
how  much  it  will  be,  on  account  of  your  mother  and 
her  jealousy.  It  is  agreed  that  I  shall  spend  every 
winter  with  you  in  Paris." 

I  was  stunned,  bewildered,  crazed. 

"What?  What?  You  are  going  to  marry  me 
in  that  way !  You  have  promised  my  hand  to  that 
man,  who  is  double  my  age?  I  won't  have  him,  I 
won't  have  him !  " 

"  Juliette,  you  are  absurd.  We  shall  never  find 
another  such  opportunity  at  Chauny,  far  from  all 
Parisian  acquaintances.  He  is  sent  to  us  by  Provi- 
dence. Besides,  he  is  very  good-looking.  He  re- 
sembles one  of  my  heroes  in  Balzac,  feature  by 
feature.  You  shall  see." 

[384] 


THE  "FAMILY  DRAMA"  AGAIN 

And  she  went  to  get  one  of  her  favourite  nov- 
els, which  she  knew  nearly  by  heart,  and  read  me 
several  passages  from  it,  which  I  have  always  re- 
membered. 

I  took  grandfather  and  Blondeau  to  witness  the 
folly  of  my  grandmother's  plan.  It  was  useless. 
It  was  already  too  late.  Early  in  the  morning  she 
had  persuaded  them,  if  not  of  the  happiness  I 
should  find  in  this  marriage,  at  least  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  my  living  in  Paris  and  "  conquering 
celebrity  "  there. 

My  father  and  mother,  who  had  been  sent  for, 
arrived  a  few  days  later.  My  father  was  in  an 
extraordinary  state  of  excitement.  The  coup 
d'etat  which  he  had  foreseen  had  taken  place. 

My  mother  at  once  declared  that  she  shared 
grandmother's  views  regarding  my  marriage.  My 
father  flew  into  one  of  his  rages.  He  said,  in  a 
loud  voice,  that  he  would  never  consent  to  the 
union  of  his  only  daughter  with  "  an  old  man  " — 
that  was  to  say,  a  husband  double  the  age  of  his 
wife.  He  raved,  he  overstepped  all  bounds  in  his 
objections,  and  finally  left  the  drawing-room, 
swearing  at  and  insulting  everybody.  He  reap- 
peared a  few  moments  later,  and,  half-opening  the 
door,  called  me,  took  me  in  his  arms,  after  having 
wrapped  me  up  in  a  shawl  of  my  mother's,  bore 
26  [  385  ] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

me  to  his  carriage,  standing  outside,  and,  whip- 
ping his  horse,  carried  me  off,  while  my  mother 
and  grandmother,  screaming  in  the  street,  ordered 
him  to  leave  me. 

He  was  literally  mad,  and  spoke  in  violent  terms 
against  Monsieur  Lamessine,  telling  me  things  of 
which  I  had  never  heard  about  the  life  of  "  an  old 
bachelor." 

However,  the  evening  I  passed  alone  with  my 
father  at  Blerancourt  touched  my  heart  more  than 
I  can  describe.  He  depicted  the  despair  of  a  father 
who  adored  his  daughter,  who  had  scarcely  ever 
had  her  to  himself,  and  who  was  urged  to  give 
her,  still  a  child,  to  an  unworthy  man.  Tears  ran 
down  his  face.  He  told  me  how  unhappy  he  was, 
and  related  his  whole  life  to  me. 

"  The  more  I  have  loved,  the  more  have  I  been 
crushed  by  what  I  loved,"  he  said.  "  At  first, 
crushed  in  my  faith,  then  in  my  affection  for  my 
wife,  my  first,  my  only  love,  crushed  by  friend- 
ship, deceived  by  my  best  friend,  Doctor  Bern- 
hardt,  for  whom  I  abandoned  everything,  my  small 
means,  my  happiness,  and  my  child;  am  I  now 
to  be  crushed  in  my  affection  for  my  idolised 
daughter,  just  at  the  moment  when  my  love  for 
the  Republic  and  liberty  is  betrayed?  " 

Terror  had  reigned  for  several  days.  All  the 
[386] 


THE  "FAMILY  DRAMA"  AGAIN 

heads  of  the  party  of  liberty  were  exiled.  Twen- 
ty-six thousand  were  sent  out  of  the  country ;  the 
republican  leaders  were  despatched  to  Noukahiva; 
their  soldiers  could  not  reassemble. 

Scarcely  had  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte  as- 
sured the  country  of  the  purity  of  his  intentions, 
in  November,  before  he  took  possession  of  France 
by  fraud. 

"  France  has  understood,"  he  said  at  that  time, 
"  that  I  infringed  the  law  only  to  enter  into  my 
rights." 

"  All  is  over  with  the  Republic,  and  through 
the  fault  of  republicans  themselves,"  my  father 
said,  despairingly.  "  I  hate  in  the  same  way  those 
who  have  let  themselves  be  conquered  through 
weakness,  and  those  who  have  conquered  by  bru- 
tality. And  now  they  wish  to  sacrifice  my  daugh- 
ter to  I  know  not  what  idiotic  dream  of  future 
celebrity.  Juliette,  Juliette,  my  child !  "  he  cried, 
"  I  will  protect  you.  You  are  my  last  refuge,  my 
last  hope — I  cling  to  you !  " 

And  my  father  wept  like  a  child.  I  consoled 
him  almost  maternally,  and  said  to  him: 

"  Father,  calm  yourself;  they  cannot  marry  me 
against  my  will." 

The  next  morning  my  mother,  who  had'  been 
left  behind,  and  who  never  knew  how  to  hide  a 
[387] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

grievance,  arrived,  very  angry,  and  had  a  quar- 
rel with  my  father,  during  which  never-to-be-for- 
gotten words  were  said,  wicked  words,  which  my 
parents  should  never  have  used  to  each  other  before 
me,  for  they  suggested  to  me  for  the  first  time  the 
desire  to  escape  from  so  much  violence,  and  from 
the  sight  of  so  many  cruel  wounds  opened  under 
my  eyes. 

"  Nothing  more — they  have  left  me  nothing 
more !  I  have  lost  everything !  "  cried  my  father. 
"  I  am  a  shipwrecked  man,  struggling  amid 
wreckage.  I  would  like  to  die!  Do  not  let  them 
take  my  daughter  from  me,  for  pity's  sake !  " 

"  Your  daughter  cannot  remain  here,"  replied 
my  mother ;  "  her  grandmother  is  waiting  for  her, 
for  it  was  she  who  brought  me  home ;  she  is  at  the 
Decaisne's.  Juliette  will  now  be  always  tossed 
about  between  us;  it  is  she  who  will  be  the  ship- 
wrecked one.  Besides,  I  do  not  want  her!  Her 
grandmother  has  taken  her,  brought  her  up  ac- 
cording to  her  ideas ;  let  her  keep  her,  marry  her, 
arrange  her  happiness  according  to  her  will;  it  is 
not  our  place  to  meddle  with  it.  The  responsibility 
of  it  all  remains  with  you,  who  forgot  your 
fatherly  duty  years  ago." 

And  my  mother  took  me  away,  vanquished,  feel- 
ing myself  reduced  to  powerlessness.  And  I  was 
[388] 


THE  "  FAMILY  DRAMA  "  AGAIN 

again  wrapped  up  in  the  same  shawl  and  returned 
to  Chauny,  this  time  in  a  closed  carriage,  for  the 
night  was  dark  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 

My  father  wrote  me  a  letter,  which  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  keep,  and  which  later  occasioned  one 
of  the  most  sorrowful  crises  in  my  life,  which  had 
already  begun  to  number  a  good  many. 

"  My  beloved  daughter,"  wrote  my  father,  "  do 
not  allow  yourself  to  be  doomed  to  unhappiness. 
The  man  whom  they  wish  you  to  marry  is  a  scep- 
tic; he  desires  to  unite  the  attraction  of  your 
person  to  his  own,  to  advance  him  in  society,  and 
to  better  a  position  to  which  he  aspires.  He  is 
not  a  man  to  love  you,  or  whom  you  will  ever 
love.  They  cannot  marry  you  without  my  con- 
sent, do  not  forget  it.  Should  I  be  obliged  to 
lose  forever  what  tranquillity  remains  to  me,  on  ac- 
count of  this,  I  will  not  sacrifice  you.  If  you 
should  let  yourself  be  led  astray,  and  should  ask 
my  consent  to  this  marriage,  I  should  only  have  to 
add  the  despair  of  my  private  experience  to  the 
hopelessness  of  my  public  life." 

How  shall  I  relate  my  struggles,  which  lasted 
for  long  months?  They  can  be  imagined.  My 
grandmother  and  my  mother  desired  this  marriage 
for  different,  but  equally  selfish  motives,  which 
blinded  their  eyes.  The  former  wished  not  to  lose 
[389] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

me  entirely,  Monsieur  Lamessine  having  promised 
her  that  she  should  live  with  us  during  the  win- 
ter, in  Paris,  so  soon  as  we  should  be  settled  there ; 
my  mother  desired  the  match  in  order  to  remove 
me  from  my  father. 

Poor  father!  He  was  often  a  prey  to  his  wild 
fits  of  anger,  and  threw  himself  again  headlong 
into  politics,  making  himself  conspicuous,  com- 
promising himself,  thinking  only  of  falling  on 
some  enemy,  no  matter  whom  it  might  be,  of  giv- 
ing battle,  of  fighting,  and  of  escaping  from  his 
present  sufferings  by  other  sufferings. 

He  succeeded,  and  his  name  soon  figured  at  the 
head  of  a  new  list  of  convicts  to  be  sent  from  the 
Aisne  department.  When  they  came  to  arrest 
him,  in  1852,  he  was  so  seriously  ill  in  bed  that  he 
could  not  be  removed.  This  delay  gave  my  grand- 
mother time  to  write  to  my  friend  Charles,  who, 
after  having  left  Flocon,  to  rally  himself  to 
Bonapartism,  had  become  an  influential  man.  He 
succeeded  in  having  my  father's  name  erased  from 
the  list  of  convicts,  but  implored  my  grandmother 
to  make  him  keep  quiet,  for  he  would  not  be  able 
to  save  him  a  second  time,  he  wrote,  "  if  his  demo- 
cratic-socialistic follies  pointed  him  out  again  as 
dangerous." 

Alas!  when  this  letter  reached  grandmother  my 
[390] 


THE  "  FAMILY  DRAMA  "  AGAIN 

father  had  brain  fever,  which  endangered  his  life 
for  a  week.  As  soon  as  my  grandfather  heard  the 
news  of  his  illness  he  hurried  to  Blerancourt,  in- 
stalled himself  by  his  son-in-law's  bedside,  and  by 
devoted  care  snatched  him  from  death. 

When  my  father  was  out  of  danger  my  mother 
and  my  grandmother  dared  not  refuse  the  poor 
convalescent  his  desire  to  see  me  again. 

I  went,  but  how  sad  we  both  were,  and  in  what 
suspicion  did  we  feel  ourselves  held !  Grandmother 
accompanied  me  there,  and  neither  she  nor  my 
mother  would  leave  me  alone  with  my  father  for 
a  moment. 

I  said  to  him,  before  my  two  stern  guardians: 
"  Dear  father,  I  think  it  would  be  better,  after 
all,  for  me  to  consent  to  this  marriage,  because 
when  I  am  married  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to  ask 
you  to  come  to  me,  and  to  talk  with  you  a  little 
alone,  heart  to  heart." 

"  No,  no ! "  he  replied ;  "  I  would  rather  see  you 
dead  than  delivered  over  to  certain  unhappiness !  " 

And  yet  it  was  he  who  delivered  me  over  to 
the  unhappiness  he  foresaw. 

In  a  moment  of  violent  anger,  which  my  mother 
had  finally  succeeded  in  provoking,  he  signed  a 
paper,  which  until  then  she  had  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  make  him  sign. 

[391] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

I  felt  myself  abandoned  even  by  my  aunts,  who, 
at  the  idea  of  having  me  live  for  three  years  at 
Soissons,  near  to  them,  and  then  at  Paris,  whence 
I  should  be  glad  to  come  to  pass  some  months  in 
the  country,  told  me  that  after  having  seen  Mon- 
sieur Lamessine  again,  who  had  gone  several  times 
to  make  them  a  visit,  they  approved  of  the  mar- 
riage. 

"  Besides,"  said  aunt  Constance,  with  her  cus- 
tomary banter,  "  if  you  should  be  unhappy  and 
abandoned,  my  dear  Juliette,  Chivres  is  here  to 
give  you  asylum.  If  you  should  have  a  numerous 
family,  Roussot  alone  would  become  insufficient, 
and,  to  compensate  you  for  your  husband's  ab- 
sence, we  would  buy  another  donkey !  " 


[392] 


XLI 

MY    MARRIAGE   AND    ITS   RESULTS 

MARRIED  Monsieur  Lamessine.  My  father 
was  not  present  at  my  wedding.  He  con- 
fessed to  me  later  that  he  was  so  unhappy  on 
that  day  that  he  wished  to  blow  out  his  brains; 
but  he  thought,  perhaps,  I  might  have  need  of  his 
protection  some  day,  and  he  resigned  himself  to 
living. 

Alas!  I  ought  to  have  claimed  his  protection 
from  the  very  first  hours  of  my  marriage,  but  I 
felt  that  if  I  spoke  a  word  it  would  be  a  new  an- 
guish for  my  father,  whose  fears  it  would  have 
confirmed;  to  my  grandmother,  whose  scaffoldings 
of  dreams  it  would  have  cast  down,  and  to  my 
dear  aunts,  whose  peace  it  would  have  disturbed. 
I  did  not  say  a  word  until  after  my  confinement, 
for  which  I  went  to  Blerancourt,  and  where  I  was, 
so  to  speak,  forced  to  confidences  by  my  father, 
who  divined  all  that  I  must  have  suffered. 

When  she  knew  herself  a  great-grandmother 
and  that  she  could  embrace  her  granddaughter's 
child,  my  grandmother  hoped  to  extend  the  agree- 
[393] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

ment  of  living  with  me  every  winter  at  Paris  to 
the  house  at  Soissons,  which  we  were  to  inhabit  for 
eighteen  months  longer. 

One  day,  when  she  had  come  to  see  me,  to  com- 
plete the  secret  dowry,  the  last  installment  of 
which  she  had  engaged  herself  to  pay  only  so 
soon  as  we  should  be  settled  in  Paris,  but  which 
she  anticipated,  she  said  to  my  husband  when 
breakfast  was  over: 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  brought  such 
a  large  trunk  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  madame." 

"  It  is  because  I  expect  to  pass  the  winter  with 
you  and  Juliette." 

"  Impossible,  my  dear  madame." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  impossible  ?  " 

"  I  made  a  mistake ;  I  meant  to  say,  you  will 
never  come." 

"  Never,  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  You  will  never  live  in  my  house  with  your 
grandchild." 

"  You  are  joking,  monsieur." 

"  No,  I  am  speaking  most  seriously.  You  think 
Juliette  is  happy,  she  is  not;  we  agree  in  noth- 
ing, nor  about  anything.  If  you  should  be  a 
third  party  in  our  household,  what  would  our  un- 
happiness  be  then?  " 

[394] 


MY  MARRIAGE  AND  ITS  RESULTS 

"  Is  it  true,  my  Juliette,  that  you  are  un- 
happy ?  "  asked  my  grandmother. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  choking  with  sobs,  "  I  am 
as  unhappy  as  one  can  possibly  be." 

My  grandmother  rose  from  her  seat  suddenly, 
but  she  was  obliged  to  lean  against  a  chair  to 
keep  from  falling.  She  tottered  like  a  tree  that 
is  being  uprooted. 

"  But  your  promises  ?  "  she  said  to  my  husband. 

"  They  were  necessary,  my  dear  madame,"  he 
replied,  "  only  until  you  had  finished  keeping 
yours  integrally." 

My  grandmother  opened  the  dining-room  door 
without  saying  a  word,  took  her  cloak  from  the 
hall,  and  left  our  house.  I  went  up  to  my  room 
to  put  on  my  bonnet,  and  followed  her.  I  did  not 
know  where  to  look  for  her.  A  man  had  come  to 
get  her  trunk,  which  I  saw  put  on  the  diligence. 
I  learned  later  that  a  lady  had  taken  a  place  for 
herself  in  it ;  that  she  had  left  the  village  in  a  car- 
riage and  was  to  take  the  diligence  outside  of  the 
town.  She  had  done  likewise  when  she  carried  me 
off  from  Verberie. 

I  could  not  leave  my  daughter,  whom  I  was 
nursing.  I  returned,  and  implored  my  husband  to 
take  the  diligence,  to  rejoin  my  grandmother,  and 
bring  her  back  to  me. 

[395] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

"  Ah !  no,  indeed !  "  he  said  to  me ;  "  it  has  gone 
off  too  well!  No  drama,  no  quarrel.  I  am  de- 
lighted." 

I  could  do  nothing  but  give  the  driver  of  the 
diligence  a  letter  for  my  poor  grandmother,  in 
which  I  told  her  all  my  sorrow.  I  added :  "  I  am 
*  tied  '  in  my  turn,  and  I  '  browse ' ;  but  I  shall  un- 
tie myself  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can." 

And  so  my  grandmother's  last  and  dearest  ro- 
mance ended  cruelly.  On  returning  to  Chauny 
she  starved  herself  to  death.  Knowing  she  had 
but  a  few  days  more  to  live,  she  sent  for  my  father 
and  asked  him  to  pardon  her  for  the  harm  she  had 
done  to  him  and  to  me,  in  marrying  me  against 
his  wishes  and  mine. 

My  father  forgave  her,  and  implored  her  to  do 
all  that  she  could  to  live  (alas!  had  she  wished  it, 
there  was  no  longer  time!),  saying  that  I  had  need 
of  all  those  who  loved  me,  more  than  ever  now. 

Knowing  I  was  nursing  my  child,  she  had  not 
let  me  suspect  anything  about  her  tragical  deter- 
mination; on  the  contrary,  in  each  one  of  her  let- 
ters she  reassured  me,  saying  she  did  not  take  my 
husband's  words  seriously.  I  did  not  even  imagine 
that  she  was  ill. 

One  night,  about  ten  o'clock,  I  had  just  put  my 
daughter  in  her  crib,  had  returned  to  bed,  and  was 
[396] 


MY  MARRIAGE  AND  ITS  RESULTS 

about  to  go  to  sleep,  when,  by  the  light  of  a  night 
lamp  that  was  always  burning,  I  saw  my  grand- 
mother come  into  my  room. 

"  Ah!  grandmother,  is  it  you?  "  I  cried. 

With  a  slow  gesture,  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her 
eyes.  The  sockets  were  empty!  I  jumped  out  of 
bed  and  went  toward  her — she  had  disappeared! 

I  rushed  into  my  husband's  study,  where  he  was 
writing. 

"  My  grandmother,  my  grandmother,  where  is 
she?  I  have  just  seen  her,  with  empty  eyes,  in  my 
room ! " 

"  You  are  crazy,"  Monsieur  Lamessine  said ; 
"  your  grandmother  cannot  be  here.  Your  mother 
writes  me  that  she  is  ill,  and  begs  me,  on  account 
of  your  nursing,  not  to  inform  you  of  it." 

The  next  day  I  heard  that  my  grandmother  had 

died  at  the  very  hour  she  had  appeared  to  me. 

*     *     # 

When  I  began  to  believe  in  religion  again,  this 
apparition  of  my  grandmother  was  to  me  one  of 
the  strongest  proofs  of  a  hereafter. 

The  movement  of  her  hand  carried  up  to  her 
eyes,  whose  sockets  were  empty,  seemed  to  me  to 
signify :  "  Blindness  is  death !  " 

I  had  remained  blind  too  long,  and  always  in 
my  dreams  I  saw  my  grandmother  again  with  the 
[397] 


MY  CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH 

frightful  gesture  of  her  hand  raised  to  her  empty 
eyes. 

I  have  never  seen  her  again  with  this  gesture 
since  I  wrote  my  Reve  sur  le  Divvn,  which,  with  my 
reborn  soul,  I  dedicated  to  the  newly  born  soul  of 
my  granddaughter,  Juliette.  It  was  a  book  writ- 
ten with  deep  feeling,  the  inspiration  of  which  I 
believe  to  have  come  from  my  beloved  grand- 
mother. 

*     *     * 

The  day  after  this  strange  apparition  I  left  for 
Chauny  with  my  daughter. 

My  mother,  profoundly  moved  by  her  mother's 
death  and  by  the  causes  which  had  determined  it, 
received  me  with  tenderness  and  with  tears  of  re- 
pentance. When  my  grandmother  was  dying,  and 
when  she  implored  my  father's  forgiveness,  she  had 
exacted  from  her  daughter  a  promise  that  she 
would  at  the  same  time  ask  her  husband's  pardon 
for  the  harm  she  had  done  by  her  jealousy. 

I  passed  some  sad  but  peaceful  weeks  with  my 
parents.  My  grandfather  obtained  my  father's 
and  mother's  consent  to  come  and  live  with  them. 

"  It  will  not  be  for  long,"  he  said  to  them ;  "  for 
I  can  never  live  without  my  dear  scolder,  and  you 
will  bury  me  before  this  year  is  over."     He  died 
eleven  months  after  my  grandmother. 
[398] 


MY  MARRIAGE  AND  ITS  RESULTS 

From  the  day  my  grandmother  left  us,  my 
father's  one  thought  was  to  replace  her  in  my  life, 
and  he  bestowed  a  double  affection  upon  me.  He 
encouraged  me  to  work,  aided  me  with  his  advice, 
and  said  to  me: 

"  When  your  married  life  becomes  even  more  in- 
tolerable to  you  than  it  is  now,  your  mother  and 
I  will  dedicate  our  lives  to  you.  We  will  follow 
wherever  you  may  lead  us.  Work,  work,  and  be- 
come known.  There  is  no  other  way  by  which  a 
woman  can  gain  her  liberty  than  by  affirming  her 
personality." 

I  worked  while  nursing  and  bringing  up  my 
daughter.  I  completed  my  education,  very  much 
developed  in  certain  matters,  very  insufficient  in 
others. 

Then,  one  day,  after  some  insignificant  literary 
attempts,  revolted  at  the  insults  Proudhon  had 
thrown  at  Daniel  Stern  and  George  Sand  in  his 
book,  La  Justice  dans  la  Revolution,  I  wrote  my 
Anti-Proudhonian  Ideas,  and  my  real  literary  life 
began,  with  the  record  of  which  I  shall  some  day 
continue  these  memoirs. 


[399] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
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A.3Z5E 


my  childhood 
and  youth. 


